


people throw rocks at things that shine

by flyingthesky, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pudding, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky/pseuds/flyingthesky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I slept with two members of One Direction and all I got was ink in my quiff (and a tentacled girlfriend?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	people throw rocks at things that shine

The boys have always known. It’s not like Harry could hide it at all, not when they all got naked with each other within the first day. It was Louis’ idea, of course, but Harry’s been gearing himself up for telling them this whole time. It’s probably something your band members should know before they agree to be in a band with you.

They all _ooh_ and _ahh_ over Liam’s abs, of course, and Harry wonders how it’s possible to be that chiseled at sixteen—god knows that he’s practically made of Mars Bars—before he takes off his own pants.

It takes a moment. They notice slowly, and it’s actually funny how each person’s voice drops off as their eyes come to rest on Harry.

"Mate," Louis says calmly. Harry would think the calm’s a front, except Louis isn’t really affected by most things. "Did you know you’ve got tentacles?"

"Yeah," Harry says, reflexively looking down. His tentacles wave at Louis, which Harry takes as a sign that they like him. "It’s not a problem, is it?"

It’s not a problem. It would be hard for it to be a problem, considering that having tentacles has nothing to do with singing ability and he’s not planning to _sleep_ with anyone in the band, but stranger things have happened. When you have tentacles instead of a dick, Harry’s found, things get a little strange no matter what you do.

The other boys seem to accept the tentacles, but stay away from them like they’ll bite or something—which is silly, because the worst his tentacles can do is leave little suction cup marks that fade away in a couple minutes. Louis, however, makes _friends_ with Harry’s tentacles, which Harry maintains is proof that Louis is possibly touched in the head or far, far too used to weird things happening in his life. Maybe both.

Louis talks to them sometimes, which is. It’s alright, Harry supposes. It’s what he gets for walking around with his kit off all the time. He’ll be trying to have a nap and Louis will be chatting away to his tentacles, laughing with them. Harry doesn’t think it’s normal to be jealous of your own tentacles, but he’s pretty sure Louis has inside jokes with them.

He does at least hope that Louis likes him for more than just his tentacles. He likes Louis, at least, and it’d be nice if it was a mutual sort of liking. He’s still not planning on fucking him, but friends should like you for more than your . . . non-genitalia.

"I like you for your face too," Louis says, looking up from where Harry’s tentacles are wrapped around his wrist. "The rest of you is okay too, but your face and your tentacles are definitely your best feature."

Harry looks at him, the angle kind of awkward, and then gives up and lets his head drop down to rest on his pillow again. It’s not worth the effort to see Louis’ face while they have this conversation, because it’ll put a weird crick in his neck and then he’ll whine about it until Louis gives him a neck massage—it’s not like Louis will mind, but Harry is too lazy to go through any of that right now.

"I didn’t even say anything."

"You didn’t have to. Your tentacles were droopy. They get like that when you’re sulking." Louis coos softly and strokes fingers over one of Harry’s smaller tentacles. "I’ve named them. They need names; everything needs a name."

"They don’t need names," huffs Harry, conveniently forgetting how he named each one with tender care when he was younger. "Why can’t you give me a cuddle instead of them? I’m getting jealous."

"Cuddling your tentacles is cuddling you." Louis looks up at Harry fondly, seemingly unconcerned with the way the tentacle has wrapped around his wrist. "They _are_ a part of you, Harold."

Even as he says that, though, Louis is absently shaking Harry's tentacle off his wrist and shifting around until he's pressed up against Harry in the too-small bunk bed. Harry turns so he's facing Louis and their noses almost touch. It's not comfortable, exactly, but it feels that way.

"You only love me for my tentacles," Harry grumbles. He makes his eyes as wide as they’ll go. "Love me for me."

"I do love you for you," says Louis calmly. "You and your tentacles. They’re cute just like you. I just want to get to know them. Embrace the tentacles. I’ve never met anyone with them before. This is like an adventure for me."

"Well, it's normal for me, being as I've always had them," Harry says. He pauses for a moment. "I don't know anyone else with tentacles either, though." 

It isn't like Harry's seen all his friends with their kits off, but he's pretty sure that none of the other boys in Holmes Chapel had tentacles. Not even Gemma has tentacles, so it's really just Harry. His mother likes to say that he gave the nurses at the hospital quite a fright, but she hadn't let them take him away for science. He doesn't really think the people at the hospital would have taken him away just because of the tentacles, but there's a distinct possibility of it possibly bred from too many strange bedtime stories and too much sci-fi.

"I wonder if there are more people like you," Louis says. The tentacles are curling around Louis hip, and he pets at them absently. "Do you think we could Google it?"

"Google does know lots of things," Harry replies agreeably. He frowns. "I don’t know how many people would talk about it, though. If they did have them. They tend to sort of make people uncomfortable."

"People are stupid. They’re cute!" Louis exclaims, as one of Harry’s tentacles curls around his finger. They have a small tug-of-war that Louis obviously isn’t putting his full effort into. "I like them. Surely it’s got to be documented or something, when people have tentacles? Shouldn’t it be on record somewhere?"

"How would you even Google that without getting weird Japanese tentacle porn?"

The specificity of the question probably belies the fact that Harry had tried Googling it a grand total of once. As it turned out, "tentacle dick" was not a Google search that could be scrolled through without being a little scarred for life. Tentacles in porn weren't even remotely similar to his own most of the time, but schoolgirls really seemed to like them. Harry couldn't really see the appeal, but it had been nice to know that there were people who were into tentacles—even if they tended to be purple and attached to monsters.

Harry’s not purple, and he’s not a monster, he’s just a boy who happens to have tentacles. It could even be a very common affliction, but he wouldn’t know. He’s only ever seen boys who have dicks. He’s never seen boys who have tentacles, other than himself. 

It’s a bit of a scary thought, that he might be the only person in the whole entire world with tentacles. It isn’t that he doesn’t like them, or even that he wishes he had a dick instead. They’re a good conversation piece if nothing else, and they’re easy to tuck away, and he never has to deal with inconvenient boners. When his tentacles get excited they mostly just. Wiggle. And that’s simple to hide.

"We could ask Zayn," Louis says. He loses the tug-of-war with the tentacle and surrenders his finger as a plaything. "He'd probably know how."

They don't ask Zayn. They don't even get up until Niall comes and finds them, saying that they need to practice, and Louis carefully retrieves his hand from the mess of Harry's tentacles before Harry tugs on pants. He wouldn't if there wasn't a good chance someone would be filming them practicing, for use in whatever thing, and wearing pants for that stuff is usually better.

Better for everyone else. Not better for Harry. 

His tentacles can get cramped if they’re not allowed to roam free. They do like it when Harry sings, though, and as they practice, he has to hold back his smile more than once as a tentacle tickles his thigh or squirms in delight. They’re very excitable. He really does wish he knew somebody else with them, because it’d be interesting to compare things like color or shape or length. He’s never had the sort of insecurities that other boys had over size because he didn’t have anyone to compare himself to, but he wonders if that’s a thing, tentacle envy.

He tries to imagine being jealous of an octopus or a squid, and it just seems silly. Maybe if an octopus and a squid were jealous of each other? Why would an octopus and a squid be jealous of each other, though?

"You're thinking too much," Louis says, waving a hand in front of Harry's face. "I can hear the wheels in your head turning."

"Can you think of a reason an octopus would be jealous of a squid?" Harry asks, frowning as he continues to contemplate it. They should probably be really practicing but they’re quite good and Harry knows his part by heart and that’s the thing he’s got to worry about most.

Louis looks at him like he’s sprouted another limb. "Is that the kind of shit you think about when you drift off? I’ve never met anybody as weird as you, Styles." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe if the squid had a really hot girlfriend."

"But then he wouldn't be jealous of his tentacles," Harry says, like that makes any actual sense as a response. "He'd be jealous of the fact that the squid has a hot girlfriend."

There's a pause where Louis just squints at Harry like it'll make him make more sense, and then he shakes his head. He gives up on actually following the conversation and just gives what he hopes is an appropriate response instead.

"Maybe the squid has better looking tentacles."

Harry’s frown deepens and he looks down at himself. Maybe he’s actually got awful looking tentacles and he doesn’t know because they’re the only tentacles he’s ever seen. He guesses it’s possible. His are very cute, if he does say so himself, and when he was very young he used to put bows on them. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to have cuter tentacles than ones that have little bows on them.

"Maybe the squid’s a jerk," he mutters mutinously, very angry with the hypothetical squid for making him think his tentacles could be anything other than magnificent.

"What did the squid ever do to you?" Louis blinks, unsure of what just happened. He thinks that Harry is the octopus in question, maybe. "He doesn't have better tentacles than you, if that's what you're upset about."

"And how do you know that?" exclaims Harry. "Maybe there are actually a million squids in the world and all of them have got better tentacles than me. _Maybe that_."

"Oh my god," Louis says. He resists the urge to bury his face in his hands because Harry's an idiot, but only barely. "You're jealous of a hypothetical squid."

Even though Harry's sulking, Louis walks over and wraps him up in a hug. Harry tries to break away for a moment, and then he sighs and gives in to the hug. "I think you have the prettiest tentacles," Louis tell Harry, "and I would never pick a squid's over yours."

"Promise?" asks Harry, letting his head rest on Louis’ shoulder. "If you leave me to go be best friends with a squid somewhere, I will be very, very cross. And I won’t let you play with mine anymore. And I’ll, I’ll kick you out of the band." He doesn’t think he could actually do that last bit, because there are three other boys in this band who will probably want to have a say in it, but the being cross bit, Harry is very serious about.

"Yes, I promise. I wouldn't want to get kicked out of the band. And I'd miss your tentacles terribly."

It's the truth, even if Harry doesn't want to believe it. Even though they haven't known each other that long, Louis is pretty attached to Harry and his tentacles. He'd hate never seeing Harry and the rest of the band again, and he's pretty sure it'd be awful. No squid would ever be worth that.

"Well. Good." Harry’s happy, so his tentacles are happy, wriggling about with joy. It’s a funny feeling even if he’s gotten used to it by now. His tentacles are happy far more often than they’re sad. "They would miss you, too."

"Good," Louis says, "because it would be terrible if this were a one-sided thing and your tentacles didn't like me ask much as I like them."

No matter what Harry says, Louis has a special bond with his tentacles. He gave them names, so they're totally tight.

"That _would_ be terrible," Harry agrees. "But you should care more about me not liking you. I am more than just my tentacles." He gives Louis a firmer cuddle and then prods his shoulder. "And you’d better like me more than them. Or I’ll cry."

"I like you more than your tentacles." Louis pets Harry's hair, because it makes Harry sort of melt against him and Louis is a sucker for that. "Your tentacles aren't what's going to get us through X-Factor, after all."

"Too right they’re not," says Harry firmly. He head-butts Louis’ hand and smiles. That really does feel quite nice. "We should probably get back to practicing, shouldn’t we? They’ll probably expect us to sing."

"I suspect so, being that it _is_ a singing competition."

He lets go of Harry, a little reluctantly, and they wander over to the rest of their band again. Liam looks a little annoyed, but Louis ignores him and figures everything will sort itself out in the end. They sound pretty damn good together for having basically just been turned into a band, and that's not even wishful thinking. He's certain they're going to go far, maybe even win the whole competition.

"Okay," Harry announces. "Shall we do it from the top again? Put on your best boy band faces."

They’re getting good at the boy band faces, as well. There’s not much to it aside from looking sort of sad and emotional while you’re singing and Liam does that anyway. 

Liam’s probably going to be the front man and honestly, Harry’s alright with that. Liam’s been doing this for ages and he’s got the most experience, and he’s the one Harry thinks is most frustrated that he was put in a band to get here when he did it all on his own before. He’ll just have to suck it up, though. Even if none of them were expecting this, it’s the best chance they’ve got to become something.

They weren't even in the bottom two, which, there are so many people here who are really really good, and who have been working hard at what they do for so long that it makes them all feel so very young. And while a few people seem to think that the fact that they're young means they aren't working hard enough, they are. They're working harder than everyone, maybe, and it's nice that it pays off.

It also means that they can't slack off, which means more practicing until they're tired and Louis isn't even sure he has a voice anymore. It helps their song, though, and everyone is nailing their parts. They all run out of things to pick at, and it feels solid, feels like something that'll put them through again. It's not really up to them, of course, but Louis likes to think that there are enough teenage girls in the UK who like their faces enough to vote for them and keep them in for at least another couple of weeks.

Apparently the teenage girls in the UK are mad, and they don't just stay in another couple of weeks. They stay in for weeks and weeks and weeks, longer than Aiden, longer than Katie, longer, even, than Mary, who has a voice like nothing Harry's ever heard. They make the final four, and then, unbelievably, they beat Cher out to make the top three.

All their wild fantasies about maybe, just maybe, winning the whole stupid competition don't actually seem that far-fetched in the top three. Which, of course, is probably why they end up going home. That's fine, honestly, because they're still the winning group and it's not like there's actually any chance of them _not_ getting a record deal placing in third.

It still stings.

Harry about cries himself sick backstage, and his tentacles feel heavy and sad in his trousers. It’s such a low after being so, so high that Harry almost wishes he couldn’t feel at all. People keep hugging him and it’s nice, it really is, but he just wants to mope with his band. Niall’s crying, too, and he thinks Zayn might be but it’s always so hard to tell whether Zayn’s feeling anything or not.

Louis wraps him up, and Harry can tell that he wants to cry (probably has cried), but he's doing that thing where he doesn't matter because other people are sad. It's a little selfish, but Harry buries his face in Louis' shoulder and pulls him closer. Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair and quiets him, which maybe helps Louis focus on something else too. Maybe it's good for both of them.

Harry’s happy for Matt when he wins, or as happy as it’s possible to be when he’s also the saddest he can remember ever feeling. They did as well as they could have, and Harry knows that. There’s no way they could’ve worked any harder and Matt deserved it, really he did, and he was never in the bottom two either, and he’s never been anything but nice to them.

Still, for a minute Harry kind of wishes Matt would die. Not even a minute, barely a second. He gets over it quickly enough to whisper something in Matt’s ear that his mum yells at him over for about twelve years.

He supposes that he deserves that, because it really was an ill-advised thing to say on national television, but it made Louis smile and that was worth it. He sort of thinks that anything that makes Louis smile is worth it, which is why he does stupid shit with Louis and lets Louis talk him into stupid shit he would (probably) not do otherwise.

They’re still on the tour, anyway, and that’s nearly as good as winning because they get to play to screaming crowds every night, and Simon signs them so they know that the minute tour’s over they get to start recording real songs in a real studio for a real album. Harry’s tentacles hardly stop wriggling for the entire time they’re on the tour.

They do occasionally get cramped, though, because Liam's told him that he needs to wear pants if he's going to put his butt anywhere that Liam might also put his butt. Which, you know, is a fair demand—even if it's a little uncomfortable sometimes. Louis massages all the kinks out, though, which is really nice. He's good at it.

Sometimes Harry wonders if it’s weird that they’re not fucking, because they still aren’t. Sure, Louis sometimes massages his tentacles and whenever Harry _can_ be naked, Louis still hangs all over him, but it’s purely platonic. Or, well, as platonic as Harry gets with people.

Louis doesn't even _want_ to fuck him. Harry asked once while Louis was communing with his tentacles, and Louis had looked at him for a really long moment and laughed.

"No. No, I really don't." Louis had buried his face in Harry thigh, and his tentacles had patted his face like they were worried about then. "I mean, we could try it, but I have a feeling it'd go badly."

"I guess," says Harry reluctantly. "But you play with my tentacles every day, and that might be weirder."

"True." He's currently got tentacles wrapped around his fingers and he's running his thumb over them absently, which kind of proves Harry point. Louis is better friends with his tentacles than he is with Harry, which is probably saying something. He directs his attention down to Harry's tentacles. "What do you think? Do you think me and Harry fucking would be weird?"

Harry’s tentacles wiggle delightedly, and one of them bats at Louis’ chin. It leaves a small suction-mark there, and Harry can tell that Louis is more endeared than anything else. Maybe he’d just like to fuck Harry’s tentacles. Harry wonders if that would be more or less weird than fucking _him_.

"What about my tentacles? Would you give them a go?" he asks curiously. "Or are they like your brothers, too?"

"They're attached to you," Louis points out. He says it like it's an answer, which is kind of stupid because it's not an answer at all. "Wouldn't that be kind of the same thing as fucking you?"

"In a way," allows Harry. "It might be sort of like fucking my arm, or my leg, or something, because it’s not like they’ve got brains. I don’t think they’ve got brains." He peers down at himself. They do move independently of his thoughts and they seem to respond to his feelings, but he’s not sure if they have little tentacle brains or if he’s just. A freak of nature. He’s leaning toward the second one. He has tentacles; he gave up on anything in his life making sense a long time ago.

"That just doesn't seem fair. I mean, I'm sure your tentacles and I would have a lovely time, but it seems unfair to you."

It's nice that Louis is concerned for his feelings, but Harry's the one offering. He waves it off. "They are sensitive, you know. I wouldn't actually be getting nothing out of it."

"Are they really?" Louis asks, a look of curiosity now on his face. He looks down at Harry’s tentacles and pets one of the smaller ones with the backs of his knuckles. It’s something he’s done a million times, because he really is weirdly fixated on them, and sometimes he gives them little hand hugs or he gives one a tickle.

"Yeah, when they're, like. Aroused." He wiggles his fingers, and Louis looks at him. "It's complicated."

There's not a really a good way to explain it, because it doesn't happen all that often. His tentacles are mostly like extra fingers, but sometimes they get horny. Or, well, that's how Harry sees it anyway.

He doesn’t think Louis would know what he meant even if Harry was loads better at explaining it. It’s probably something only somebody else with tentacles could understand. He wishes he knew somebody else with tentacles just so he could find out stuff about his own, whether they’re normal for tentacles or not. It’d be useful.

"I still think that would be weird that you weren't, like. Involved in the process." Louis makes a sweeping hand gesture that Harry doesn't exactly understand. He thinks it means something about autonomy. "I don't know if I could just fuck your tentacles without fucking you, which would be weird. It's weird all around."

Harry sighs, and wilts a little. It’s not even important, but Louis could _pretend_ he’d fuck him. It seems rather the polite thing to do in a situation like this. Now Harry’s grumpy and his tentacles are drooping and it’s not like he can hide it because he’s naked and he likes being naked.

"Don't be sad," Louis says, shifting around so he can poke Harry in the cheek. He touches their noses together, and Harry pulls away because he's annoyed. Louis chases him and doesn't let him get very far. "I'm sorry I don't want to fuck you."

"I don’t even want to fuck you either," mumbles Harry. His eyes cross when he tries to properly look at Louis and he gives up, closing them instead. "It’s fine. I don’t care. Not a big deal."

"You're lying," Louis says, but lets the subject drop after that. Harry's glad that he doesn't press further, just pulls Harry close and presses a kiss to his cheek. It's stupidly comfortable, and Harry thinks that the whole situation is, like Louis said, weird. It sort of makes him wonder what will happen if one of them ever gets _married_.

Like, it's probably kind of weird to lie around naked with some dude if you're married—even if that dude is a friend. Right? Do people even have weird platonic relationships like he has with Louis? Probably not.

They might, though. Maybe it’s one of those things like other people with tentacles, and he hasn’t met them yet. Maybe it’s all people with tentacles, destined to have amazing best friends who play with your tentacles but don’t actually want to fuck you.

Harry doesn’t know. There’s a whole world of information he’s not privy to because he’s never met anyone like himself.

"I can feel your sadness," Louis says, touching his forehead with Harry's. "Well, it's more like I can feel your tentacles, and when you're sad your tentacles get droopy and sad too. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't even know how to talk about it," mutters Harry. He does want a hug, though, so he snuggles into the warmth of Louis' body. "Never had anyone to talk about it to before, have I? I don't know anybody else who's got tentacles."

"I'm sure there's someone else out there." Louis obligingly hugs Harry close, and lets Harry bury his face in the curve of his neck. It probably sounds like a platitude, being told that there's probably someone else out there with tentacles, but it's all Louis has to offer. Besides, surely Harry isn't the only person on Earth with tentacles instead of genitalia.

The world is a very big place with a lot of people in it, the chances of Harry being the only person with tentacles is abysmally low. The chances of him meeting anybody else with tentacles is probably also abysmally low, but Louis is choosing not to focus on that.

"I wish there was like, you know how in films, there are schools for people like that? Mutants, or something, they always have schools they can go to so that they meet other people like themselves." Harry sighs heavily and closes his eyes. "I wish there was a school or something for people with tentacles. Or even just people who have weird stuff instead of dicks."

Louis kisses Harry's forehead, because he seems like he needs it and also because it gives him more time to formulate a response. He's not sure whether he should go for an actual discussion of the issue or try to joke it off, because he's not really sure what Harry needs. So far as Louis knows, Harry's never talked with anyone in-depth about his tentacles. He barely talks to Louis about it, beyond lamenting the fact that Louis likes his tentacles more than he likes him.

"You never know," Louis finally says, "maybe one day Hagrid is going to come sweep you up and take you to the Hogwarts of Weird Dicks."

Harry snorts, and it tickles Louis' neck. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe. Won't have time now, though, will I? Not with this whole being a nationally beloved popstar thing. I won't be able to go to any sort of Hogwarts without it being printed in the Daily Mail. I saw an article yesterday about what I had for _breakfast_."

"The teenage girls really want to know if you're a bangers and mash man or if you prefer pancakes, Harold. It's important news."

Personally, Louis doesn't understand why there are articles about things like what they ate for breakfast and he's still getting used to the fact that he pretty much can't go anywhere without being photographed. They all are, because the . . . _persistence_ of their fanbase hadn't been something any of them anticipated.

"Do you think I'd get dissected if people knew about my tentacles?" Harry asks, tilting his head up to look at Louis. It's something he's been thinking about vaguely for a long time but he's never voiced it until now. He still sort of wishes he hadn't. "Like, would I get taken to a laboratory somewhere to be experimented on? Do you think?"

"They'd have to get through the rest of us and Simon Cowell first," Louis says, which is the truth. No one in the band would want to see Harry sent off to a laboratory to get dissected, and Simon Cowell definitely wouldn't let a member of his precious new boy band get taken away—especially not Harry, because too much of their popularity rests on Harry's face. "Besides, that sort of thing only happens in movies. We have like, laws about experimenting on people, don't we?"

"We should, if we don't." Harry bites Louis' neck. Still platonically. He's pretty sure, actually, this isn't how normal best-friendships are supposed to work, but he's also pretty sure that boys in boy bands aren't supposed to have tentacles, and that's never stopped him.

"Don't leave a mark," Louis reminds Harry, because otherwise Louis might end up looking like he was mauled by a tiger. Or like he's into really kinky sex stuff, which isn't necessarily a bad thing but is probably a thing that their PR people will be mad about. He doesn't blame them, it's probably really annoying to have to deal with trying to make a bunch of teenage boys look wholesome and innocent when they do things like give each other lovebites and get really drunk.

"The one you gave Liam yesterday is _enormous_ , by the way," Harry says. It's a good way to steer the conversation away from topics that make him feel vulnerable. Harry doesn't like feeling vulnerable about anything, and definitely not about his tentacles. It's one of the reasons he walks around naked all the time. "It looks like he got hit in the neck with a mouth."

"That's because he did." Sort of, anyway. Louis hadn't really meant to leave it, but they'd been wrestling and then he'd accidentally bit down and then Liam had a lovebite that could be seen from space. It was pretty impressive, if Louis is being honest. He probably shouldn't be so proud of leaving a platonic lovebite on his bandmate, but it's one of Louis' finest achievements. 

Harry laughs, and it feels good. Louis has always been good at making Harry laugh, ever since they met, even. "It's a good thing Danielle knows you or 'my bandmate gave me a lovebite' would never work as an excuse."

"I don't think that excuse would work in any band but this one," Louis says. At least among the other groups, One Direction was a pretty odd bunch. They're probably weird as a band period, Louis thinks. He doesn't really mind, because they're all good friends and Louis is pretty sure that friends you can bite platonically are the best kind of friends.

"That's because we're the best band," says Harry, unknowingly confirming Louis' thoughts. "In the world. The next big boy band, as the other Louis said. So long as they don't find out about my little problem."

"They won't unless you decided to go take a walk in the nude, which isn't something any of us can do so I think you're safe." At least that's what Louis wants to believe. Honestly, Harry should probably wear pants at all times, because there's a distinct possibility that a fan could sneak onto their bus or something, but that just seems unfair. Also a little cruel to Harry's tentacles, which are currently poking a bit at Louis' stomach. He did stop playing with them rather suddenly.

"I think they miss you," Harry notes. "You've abandoned them in their time of need. Did you know sometimes they pine when you're not around?"

"How do you know they're pining for me?" It's actually sort of obvious, from the way they're reaching for him. He pets at them and they wriggle delightedly.

"They sort of, I don't know how to explain it. They get all whiny and they won't sit right until you're in the room again. Then they just get excited and beg for pets. Isn't that right?" Harry asks his tentacles. They don't verbally respond, obviously, but they dance against Louis' hand in a happy kind of way.

"Your tentacles like me best," Louis says, smug. "They like me better than anyone else. It's best I give the best pets, isn't it? You know a good thing when you feel it, don't you?"

"Maybe they like you best, but I certainly don't," Harry declares. It's a blatant lie. He likes Louis better than he likes anybody else he's ever met in his life, but it wouldn't do to just _say_ that to him.

Louis smiles. "That's a lie and you know it. You _and_ your tentacles like me best."

He knows he's Harry's favorite in the band, which is good because Harry's his favorite too, so it doesn't matter if Harry doesn't admit it. Louis knows, and that's the important part.

Harry's tentacles twine themselves around Louis' wrist and stick their suckers to his skin with joy. Harry wishes he could make them stop, because they're giving him away, but he does like putting smiles on Louis' face. He has a good smile, and he has a special smile for Harry's tentacles, which he appreciates.

"See, your tentacles know what's up." Louis gently pulls Harry's tentacle off, because if he leaves them there the they'll just stay and he'll be left with little red circles on his wrist that won't go away for hours. He's pretty sure they could leave some weird lovebites if he let them, and he's not really keen on trying to explain those.

He'd have to say he's fallen in love with an octopus or something. And that's not really the sort of thing the British media takes lightly.

Louis goes back to playing with Harry's tentacles, and that's it. That's the most that ever happens. The fans give them cute little nicknames because of the way they act with each other, but it's never been anything more than what it is: slightly bizarre friendship. They try not to label it.

It probably leans towards the relationships depicted in the ridiculous videos about their epic bromance that Louis totally doesn't spend time watching at all. Except, you know, a lot of their fans seem to think that they're fucking and they are definitely not fucking. They are mutually unattracted to each other platonic friends that happen to kiss sometimes. It's not a big deal to them, but it apparently a big deal for the PR people, who are constantly trying to get them to tone it down.

Which, you know, Louis would be totally willing to do if he had any idea how to do it.

It's very hard to tone something down when it's not something you're consciously doing. He doesn't _try_ to make people think he's fucking Harry. They just sort of started assuming that and they don't ever. Correct people about it, really. Because he doesn't think it matters much, in the end, whether people think he's fucking Harry, or Liam, or Aiden, or that one bloke from that one band.

Apparently it matters to the people higher up, though, because it's very strongly suggested that maybe Louis should get a girlfriend or at least go on a date to prove that he's heterosexual which is complete bullshit, really. It would kind of suck to date someone purely for publicity reasons, and Louis can tell from Liam and Danielle that it's not easy being busy and not having time for someone because you're on the road and working. Louis doesn't want to inflict that on anyone.

When he meets Eleanor, he's a bit taken aback because she's nice and she's pretty and she's funny, and she doesn't seem to mind that he enjoys biting his bandmates. She seems to think it's hilarious, actually. It's mainly for that reason that it's not hard to ask her out, because she doesn't seem to expect him to be anything other than who he is.

He really, genuinely likes her, and it's easy to be around her in the same way it's easy to be around Harry. Eleanor keeps her clothes on, though, which is a slight disappointment in the sense that's Louis had gotten used to mostly-naked cuddling and doing it with clothes on seems like an unnecessary barrier. It's not because he wants to get into her pants or anything—even though Louis will totally admit to the fact that he would definitely sleep with Eleanor in a heartbeat—just that there's something comforting about being able to feel someone's skin against yours.

He doesn't want to pressure her into anything, of course, but he has to ask, curiously: "So, you're never naked?"—which isn't a question at all, really, and if it was, it'd be a really terrible way to ask it.

Eleanor stares at him for a long, long moment and Louis has enough time to wonder if he's fucked their entire relationship up. Then she sighs, maybe a little dramatically, and twists until she's face to face with Louis.

"I have a secret," she says, "and you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"Okay," Louis agrees. He's good at secrets. The best, even; he still hasn't told anyone about the tattoo Zayn got on his arse when he was drunk. "Okay, I promise I won't."

Louis expects her to say something, but instead she unbuttons the jeans she's wearing and, without a whole lot of preamble, shoves his hand into her pants.

The fact that his hand is in a girl's pants short-circuits his brain for a moment, because Louis is a teenage boy and really, he can't be expected to handle incredibly hot things like that smoothly. Once he's gotten over the fact that yes, his hand is in Eleanor's pants, Louis notices. It's a familiar feeling, but not the one that he expected. Looking down, Louis sees that yeah. Eleanor has tentacles.

"Oh!" he exclaims, and she looks like she's going to push him away so he continues quickly, "I've met tentacles before!" which doesn't explain anything in the slightest, and he's starting to think he's just awful at saying things to pretty girls.

"You've . . . met tentacles before." Eleanor sounds confused, which Louis doesn't actually blame her for because that was about the least coherent way he could have phrased what he meant to say. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow."

"Not tentacles—well, sort of tentacles, because they're very nice, and they like me, but—somebody with tentacles, I know a person with tentacles." There, that about sums it up. He won't give Harry away without his permission, even though, frankly, Harry gets naked at a moment's notice anyway, so it's not like he could mind very much.

"You _know_ somebody with tentacles?" She sounds incredulous, but Louis can hear the tiny bit of hope in her voice too. He remembers what Harry had said— _I don't know anybody else who's got tentacles_ —and he thinks that Eleanor is probably the same way. She's probably gone through life not knowing anyone like her and thinking she was the only person in the entire world with tentacles. "Somebody that isn't me," Eleanor clarifies, like maybe she's misunderstood.

"Yes, someone that isn't you. Only the one, but he thought he was just the only one too, and now you've got tentacles too, so he's not all alone. This is _brilliant_." He belatedly realizes that he's been sort of fondling Eleanor's tentacles as he spoke, and removes his hand. "Er, sorry. About that. I'm kind of used to playing with them."

"It's, um. It's fine." Eleanor blushes. "This other person with tentacles, could you introduce us?"

For one brief moment, Louis has a vision of Harry and Eleanor running away to have little tentacled babies together. Then he realizes that's dumb, because Eleanor is very much not Harry's type (she's too much like Louis) and also he thinks Harry might be going out with Caroline Flack. He's not sure, because all he got out of Harry was a semi-coherent babble about how Caroline was just the _greatest_ , but he's pretty sure they're fucking at the very least.

And it'll be good for both of them, to know they're not alone in the Tentaworld. Tentaworld is a word that Louis created and the only occupants of the world so far are Harry and Eleanor, but they're pretty much his favorites, so he might as well call it Favoriteworld. That's not got as much of a ring to it, though.

As soon as he can, he arranges a meeting, where Eleanor can come to their flat and see Harry's tentacles in all their glory.

Harry's all nerves, and Louis finally sighs and sits him down on the couch because it's making him nervous to look at Harry being nervous and at least if Harry's sitting then he can't pace. Louis sits down next to him and bumps their shoulders together.

"It'll be fine," Louis says. "You and Eleanor can talk and bond over the tentacles in your pants! You'll like each other, I promise."

"But what if she doesn't like me? Or—or—Louis, _what if our tentacles don't get along_?" Harry looks about three shades too pale and his fingers are tapping restlessly against the arm of the sofa.

"You like me and Eleanor is like me. Only a girl with tentacles." Louis covers Harry's hand with his own, quieting the restless tapping. "And both of your tentacles like me, so they should all like each other. Seriously, it'll be fine."

It's times like this that Louis remembers just how young Harry is. He looks his age, uncertain and frown-y, and Louis gives his tentacles a fond pat to hopefully calm him down a bit.

"You're sure?" Harry finally responds. "This is so weird. I never thought I'd meet anyone with tentacles other than me. And I didn't have to meet me, I already knew me."

"I'm sure," Louis says, confident. "If it makes you feel any better, Eleanor's never met anyone else with tentacles either so this is scary for her too."

He's pretty sure that he's already told Harry that, but it never hurts to reiterate. Maybe Harry's worried that Eleanor is some kind of tentacle guru that knows everything about tentacles.

Harry makes a noise that could mean anything but probably means he's still nervous, and leans his head on Louis' shoulder. "You won't let her shout at me, will you?" he asks, hugging round Louis' middle.

It's easy enough to get his arm around Harry's shoulders at this angle and he sighs. "Of course I won't let her shout at you. There's not going to be any shouting. Just nice new friends and some tentacle playmates."

There's a knock on the door, and Louis untangles himself from Harry to go get it. It's Eleanor, of course, and she looks just as nervous as Harry. Louis wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulling her inside so he can shut the door and kiss her.

"Hi," he says, "don't be nervous. I just had this conversation with Harry, but the gist of it is that you guys are going to be friends and your tentacles will love each other and there won't be any yelling. Okay?"

"Okay," Eleanor says. "I believe you."

"Good." That was much easier than convincing Harry was. Maybe girls are just more sensible about this sort of thing. Louis kisses her again, regardless, because she deserves it and he feels like doing it, before he leads her into the room where Harry's waiting.

There's still a tiny amount of panic in Harry's eyes, but he seems a little less freaked-out now that Eleanor is standing in front of him in person. Louis turns Eleanor toward Harry, and points to him.

"Eleanor, this is Harry. Harry, this is Eleanor. You both have tentacles and you both like me, which should make you best friends." They'll like each other if they just, you know, get to know each other. And maybe stick their hands down each other's pants, who knows how these sorts of things are supposed to go. It might actually be a world first.

"Hi," says Eleanor first. It makes sense that she'd go first. In a lot of ways she's much stronger than one would assume she is, with her tiny wrists and her girlish face. She's so strong and Louis is lucky to have her, and he thanks the world for letting him be with her every day. 

She holds her hand out with a hopeful smile. "I'm Eleanor. It's lovely to finally properly meet you. Lou talks about you all the time."

Harry hesitates for a second, and then he takes Eleanor's had with a smile. "He talks about you all the time too. He talks about you to my tentacles and I think they're jealous."

Eleanor looks simply delighted. "He talks about you to my tentacles! They seem to like you, though." Now she looks a little flushed, but it might be in anticipation, or from nerves. "They've got all, all squirmy, like they like you."

"Oh," Harry says, looking a little sheepish. "Mine are used to having Louis all to themselves. I think they have a proper crush on him."

She laughs. "That sounds about right. Mine are properly crushing on him too."

Louis isn't sure how much he anticipated them ganging up on him with their tentacle-y goodness. He has to be honest, though: he doesn't much mind. His best friend has tentacles and his girlfriend has tentacles; he's starting to think he just attracts them.

"Oi," he cuts in. "All of you better be crushing on me, miss. Or you've mislead me something awful and boyfriend means something else in Tentaworld."

"That's because it does: it means boy who's going to get me a glass of water," Eleanor says, turning to smile at Louis. Louis grumbles for a moment, but goes without much complaint and Harry kind of wants to ask her what she did to get Louis to listen to her like that. As far as Harry knows, Louis doesn't listen to anyone if he can help it. 

He doesn't though, instead sitting down on the couch again. "He really likes you."

When Eleanor sits, she sort of folds gracefully into the seat and crosses one ankle over the other. She looks happily surprised, and Harry can see why Louis likes her so much: she's just like him, showing all her emotions on her face. It's one of Harry's favorite things about Louis. Maybe it'll be one of his favorite things about Eleanor as well.

"I really like him," she says softly, looking over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "He's amazing, isn't he?"

"He is," Harry says, because it's true. Louis is amazing and Harry wouldn't ever want a different best friend. "Would it be weird if I asked to see your tentacles? I've just, you know. Never seen any other ones."

Eleanor's mouth quirks a little. "Only if I can see yours, too. I've never met anybody else with them, either," she says. "Or if I have, they haven't let me know or anything. I really thought it was just me until Louis said . . ." she trails off, and then smiles at Harry. "I'm glad it's not just me, basically."

"Me too," Harry says, even as he's unbuttoning his jeans and trying to wriggle out of them. It's not like he actually wants to be wearing them in the first place, and maybe Louis is right in telling Harry that he needs to get less tight jeans. "It's scary, thinking you're alone in the world."

"It really is," says Eleanor with a bob of her head. She looks like she probably has issues with how tight her jeans are, as well. Maybe Louis has a type. Tentacles and tight trousers. 

Eleanor shifts up onto her knees so that she can better shove hers down her thighs, and she gasps quietly when Harry's are finally out in the open. "Oh, they're lovely," she says, her eyes wide. "I half thought, I thought it might've all been a really weird joke."

She's leaning forward to touch them, like they might still vanish if she doesn't confirm they're real, which is of course the moment Louis chooses to walk back into the room. Harry sees him, but Eleanor probably doesn't notice and the position they're in probably looks especially weird. He doesn't think it's anything Louis wasn't expecting, though.

"Well," Louis says, walking around the couch to set the glass of water he's carrying down on the coffee table, "that progressed quickly."

It makes Eleanor jump, and she hits Louis on the shoulder with a frown. "You scared me to death, you numpty." She's smiling again so quickly that it's hard to tell she was frowning at all, and she gestures between Harry's tentacles and her own, unfurling slowly like they're testing the environment. "Look!"

"You both have tentacles, what a coincidence." Louis feigns shock, and Eleanor hits him again. Harry can tell that it's how their relationship generally goes, but Louis doesn't seem to mind. He's smiling fondly, and it's actually pretty adorable.

"Yours are longer," Eleanor notes, shuffling down the couch a little. She holds a finger near one of them, which curls around it tentatively. "Hello, little love," she murmurs, stroking over it with her thumb. "Are they, like, do you get feeling in them?" she asks when she looks back up at Harry.

"Yeah, more when they're like." Harry waves his hand around, trying to encompass the feeling he's about to describe. "Aroused. Do you?"

She shrugs. "They're a bit ticklish, if I'm honest. Nobody's really touched them much, even me. They used to scare me when I was a little girl. I thought I was a monster."

"You're not," Louis says almost immediately, sitting down next to her and pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "You're lovely."

Eleanor drops her head forward a little, hair falling in front of her face, and Harry thinks she's blushing. He thinks that if his mother hadn't been so supportive, hadn't pounded it into his head that he was the best son she could ever ask for and there was _nothing_ wrong with him, then he might have thought he was a monster too. Harry touches his fingers to Eleanor's arm, trying for a small comforting touch.

One of her tentacles taps him on the hand. It's an odd sensation. None of his own tentacles have ever tapped him. Hers are slimmer and, really, very pretty. The tentacle that tapped Harry on the hand curls around his wrist a little, feeling him out, and Harry leaves his hand there to let it.

"If we were monsters," Harry says, "we'd be cute ones. You know, like how baby tigers are cute, but also deadly. We'd be baby tiger monsters, except octopuses."

"Baby octopus monsters." Eleanor laughs, a brilliant, tinkling sort of sound. "I like it. Much better." She settles back until she can sit in Louis' lap with her tentacles still playing with Harry's fingers. "They do like you," she adds softly. "They think you're very polite."

"Mine are warming up to you, I think." They aren't jealous of the other tentacles, at least, so Harry counts that as a victory. In fact, they're wriggling tentatively, like they're not sure if they want to be happy or not.

"I'm glad we can all be friends now," says Louis, his hand curled around Eleanor's hip. The other hand is playing with the tentacles, one of Eleanor's curled around his thumb and one of Harry's around his pinkie, and they're playing a little game of tug-of-war with his hand.

"Everyone here has seen each other without pants on," Eleanor says, letting one of Harry's tentacles wrap around one of her fingers and leave little red marks in its wake. "I think we're required to be friends at this point."

"It seems a bit arbitrary not to be," agrees Harry. He laughs as one of Eleanor's tentacles leaves a tiny sucker-mark on his wrist. It doesn't hurt, but it's an interesting feeling, different from when his own tentacles do it.

"I'm just saying that it would be very sad if my favorite people didn't get along." Louis sighs dramatically, and Harry ignores him. He's found that it's usually better to ignore Louis when he feels like being dramatic, and he thinks Eleanor's discovered the same thing. "It would be a _travesty_."

"Of course it would, dear," Eleanor agrees. She even gives Louis a little pat on the head, to go with the patient look on her face. "A travesty."

Louis looks a little annoyed, but mostly fond, and Harry decides that he definitely likes Eleanor. Anyone that can deal with Louis so effectively is clearly someone that he needs to be friends with, and Eleanor has the added benefit of being the only other person Harry's ever met with tentacles. Probably the only way Eleanor could be anything but awesome is if she did terrible things like not recycle or kick puppies and Louis probably wouldn't like her if she did terrible things, so Harry feels safe in labeling her _awesome_.

Their tentacles do seem to get on, at least, which is what Harry was most worried about. His tentacles seem to enjoy tickling Eleanor's, which makes her laugh, which makes Louis smile, so it's good things all round.

He's kind of sad when Eleanor has to go, but she promises that they can hang out again and their tentacles can have a playdate so that's nice. When he tells Caroline all of this, she laughs.

"I though I was the only girl," Caroline says as she hooks her fingers in Harry's belt loops, "you were getting naked for."

"Oh, I get naked for everyone, love." Harry ducks in close to press his face against her neck. He kisses her there because he likes the way her breath catches and she tries to hide it. "It just so happens you're the only girl I'm getting naked _with_."

"Good." Caroline pulls him toward her until they're fit together like pieces of a puzzle, and kisses him. It's the kind of kiss that leads somewhere, and Harry's really glad that Caroline's not freaked out by his tentacles. If anything, she's about as fascinated by them as Louis is which is good because, well. He likes Caroline a lot, and it would be really shitty if he had to break up with her because she was freaked out by his tentacles or afraid of them.

She's not either of those things, not even the first time she saw them. And his tentacles like her, too. When they're both naked, they like to touch her skin just as much as he does, and the way she laughs, always sex-raspy and quiet, almost turns him on more than her body does. Almost.

Caroline is ridiculously gorgeous, and it still hasn't quite sunk in yet that Harry's allowed and actually _encouraged_ to touch her. He slips his hands under her shirt, just to feel her skin against his, and Caroline's breath hitches just a little. The way she responds to him is still new and exciting, and the novelty of being able to affect her like this still hasn't worn off. Harry doesn't know if it ever will.

He hasn't been inexperienced in a while now; despite his tentacles he's still a popstar and there are still a lot of people who want to sleep with him, even if there's not much they can do to him. Harry's always been more of a giver than a receiver, anyway, and anyway, going down on girls is one of the most fun things in the world. Boys, too, he likes giving a good blowjob, but there's something so much different about girls, the noises they make and how wet they get, and the taste of them on his tongue.

If Caroline would let him, he'd go down on her for hours and hours until she was shaking and oversensitive. It wouldn't matter if the angle was awkward and his neck got cramped, because it'd be worth it to pull shaky moans from her and get her to twist her fingers into his hair until it's almost too painful. It'd be worth it if the taste of her stayed on his tongue for days as a reminder of what happened. As it is, Caroline lets him go down on her whenever they do this and Harry is content.

There are girls who shy away from it, and while Harry gets that he's maybe never understood it fully. To him, there's nothing better than curling his fingers around a girl's thighs so he can lick her open and make her shiver.

It might be one of his favorite things to do. It's definitely top three. And Caroline's so good with it, too, her nails just barely scritching his scalp when she holds him there, her hips grinding up against his face. 

Whenever he looks up at her it's like he's seeing everything good in the world, the sweat on her collarbones and the flush down her neck, and the way her hair gets so messy from her head rubbing against the pillow. Her breasts heave with every inhale and exhale and her thighs sometimes tense enough against his head that he can hear the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

She keeps up a low, encouraging murmur, holding his curls back so that she can get a better look. Harry doesn't mind; he has a good mouth and he's known it since he realized why it was that a lot of people wouldn't look him in the eye when he talked.

Flicking his tongue against her clit, Harry breathes her in and revels in the way her hips press up against him. The best part about sex, Harry thinks, is the way people look when they're not entirely in control of their own body. Caroline's not consciously making her hips stutter up, and there's something raw about throwing yourself into something so totally that it becomes unconscious. 

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't like it, just like he'd be lying if he said that he slips a finger into her for any other reason than to be a tease. He knows that the way his fingers drag makes Caroline twist her fingers in the sheets, tighten her grip on his hair, and that as much as anything else is what he wants from this.

He pulls back a little bit to take a breath but mostly because he knows his lips are red and wet with Caroline, and he wants her to see, to know. He doesn't catch his breath entirely, enjoying the slight strain of it when his tongue licks a long line up the pink rawness of her and then flicks again at her clit so that she makes that noise he loves. He does feel so accomplished when he can pry that noise out of her.

Of all the noises he knows Caroline to make, that one is his favorite because it only ever happens when Caroline's totally lost herself in what they're doing and he sincerely doubts she could put together a coherent sentence. It's a noise he thinks of as being distinctly _hers_ , and it's possible that it'll be burned in his memory forever. Sometimes Harry thinks that Caroline's ruined him for other girls, because no one could be as amazing as she is, and most of the time he can't actually bring himself to find that a bad thing.

He's not under any delusion that this is going to last forever. There are already ominous rumbles on Twitter and in the media about him and her, and 'jokes' about her age, about her being his babysitter. She puts on a strong face but Harry knows this isn't what she signed up for and sooner or later they're going to have to stop this. Harry tries not to resent the people who call themselves his fans, but it's hard when he reads his feed and sees the things they say about her without even thinking.

People can be cruel, which is something that everybody knows but maybe not in the way that being famous makes it clear. The whole world can hate you for a single thing and you don't have any say in it - Harry's not sure how Eleanor deals with it, but he admires her. Although, he supposes that having to feel like a freak for most of your life makes it easier to deal with people saying mean things about you. Still, Harry knows that being with Caroline isn't healthy for either of them.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Harry says, holding her close and touching their foreheads together, "and I'm really sorry that it did."

"Harry," says Caroline, her knuckles skimming up and down his ribs, painted nails and gentle fingers. He's going to miss them. "It's not your fault, and I don't want you to go away from this feeling like it is. You can't protect everyone, as much as you might want to try." She gives him a smile, and she's so strong even when he can see that her eyes have gone wet with tears she won't let him see her cry.

He wants to say _it is my fault_ , wants to say _I know I can't protect everyone, but I wish I could protect you_ , but Caroline doesn't need that so he swallows the million and one things he could say and doesn't say anything at all. It feels like he says them all anyway when he kisses her like a goodbye and an apology. Harry tries not to cry, because he's pretty sure that if he cries then Caroline will cry too and that's not how this should end at all. That's not how either of them should remember it.

"We're still friends," Harry says, when Caroline pulls away. It's not a question, because he can't bring himself to phrase it like one.

She smiles again and swats his shoulder. It's so light that he barely feels it, but it still rocks him almost physically. "Of course we're still friends. Don't be ridiculous. You're my favorite boy." She leans up to hug him one more time, and Harry tries, really really tries not to think of it as the last time. He doesn't want it to be the last time. He hates last times.

If it were up to him, this wouldn't be happening at all and he wouldn't even have to think about last times. Of course, the world doesn't ever really work the way people, even very famous international popstars, want it to. 

Someone, maybe it was Liam, said that if there was no sadness then there wouldn't be happiness because there'd be no comparison. If he thinks about it, Harry gets that. He gets that feeling shitty means that when you feel like you're on top of the world, it means something. It's easy to think about it like that when you don't feel shitty. In the moment, though, all Harry ever wants is to go back to being happy—or at least okay. He'd settle for okay.

He wasn't expecting to deal with heartbreak until he was a bit older. He doesn't like how dramatic the word 'heartbreak' sounds when he says it in his head, when it echoes in the corners of his mind and bounces back to the forefront just when he thinks he might be getting better.

The others try to help, in their own ways. Louis knows how it feels, more than the other boys do, because El gets all sorts of unfair things shouted at her or Tweeted at her and she doesn't deserve any of it, but she's so good at ignoring the things that hurt. Harry supposes she's probably called herself worse things, when he thinks about it and remembers, _I thought I was a monster_.

In the end, Harry gets through it by being too busy to remember to be sad most of the time. It still hurts, because Harry doesn't think it's actually possible to get over heartbreak quickly, but on the whole he doesn't have a lot of time to dwell on it because they're busy doing . . . popstar stuff like working on their second album and touring and talking to so many people that ask the same six questions everyone already knows the answer to.

The monotony's good, though. If he's concentrating on how fucking bored he is all the time, he can't think about, well, things he doesn't want to be thinking about.

He goes out a bit, but he's still only seventeen for another month and a bit and so it's not as easy as it could be. It's not like he can pull out a fake ID. He forgets that he's proper famous now, and people see his face and know any infinite number of things about him like his age or his favorite food or, they think, the last person he's had his cock in. Little do they know.

He still sees Caroline around, partially because they run in the same circles and partially because neither of them are trying very hard to avoid each other, and it's. Harry would like to say it isn't awkward, but it's a little awkward. They're not really used to being friends, and everything's a little off while they're both trying to get their bearings. It's not as bad as it could be, though, and Harry's pretty certain that everything will eventually sort itself out. Louis tells him it will too, in an effort to cheer him and his tentacles up.

Harry isn't really looking for anybody else to take her place, either. Not that anybody could. But there's stuff in the papers so often about how he's looking for somebody new or he's found somebody new and he just—he hopes Caroline doesn't believe it. He hopes she doesn't think he could just get over her like that, because he couldn't and he isn't.

It's not that he's _pining_ over her or anything, but the space in his life that he used to fill with her is still sort of raw around the edges and he's still not used to being by himself. Anyone he tried to date would just be him trying to shove someone into the slot that Caroline occupied, not him carving them out their own space, and Harry doesn't think anyone deserves that. He doesn't need a rebound.

Caroline has a lot of friends, because she's lovely, and it's only natural that Harry got to know a few of them. Some of them (most of them) stopped talking to him much when he broke up with Caroline, but then there's Nick Grimshaw, who Harry doesn't think has ever stopped talking to anybody in his life.

He likes Nick and he always has, since before Caroline introduced them, even. When he was younger he would stay up to listen to Nick on the radio because he's got an amazing voice and Harry liked to have it in his ears. He's pleased that Nick is just as affable and nice-voiced in person. It would have shattered so many of Harry's illusions if he wasn't.

(Harry's had a lot of his illusions shattered, like the ones about how much fun being a popstar is. It's not exactly that it's not fun, it's more that before being one Harry wasn't aware of how much _work_ it is. He wonders how people like Lady Gaga ever find time to sleep.)

The thing about Nick, though, is that he's easy to like. He tells ridiculous stories about hanging out with famous people and seems completely at ease with himself in any situation. He doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that Harry and Caroline have broken up, and doesn't seem to see the point in picking a side. Harry likes that about Nick, if only because he never starts treating Harry like he's got a disease called heartbreak. He just talks on like nothing's happened, and it's nice.

There's a lot about Nick that's nice. He teases Harry, which is good because a lot of people he used to be friends with seem to think that they need to treat him differently because he's a popstar now. Nick's never like that. He just treats Harry like a mate. He lets Harry come to his flat when he's hammered and sleep on his couch, and he trips him sometimes while they're walking, and he doesn't treat Harry like he's fragile. Harry appreciates that more than anything. He's not fragile, and even if he was, he can take care of himself. Nick doesn't treat him like he can't.

Somewhere, in between going to visit Nick at work and going to his place for Christmas, Harry realizes that Nick's practically his best mate that isn't Louis. The only reason he doesn't beat out Louis is that Louis has a special bond with Harry's tentacles and Nick kind of doesn't know that Harry has them. It's not that he's deliberately hiding them from Nick, more that he hasn't had a whole lot of reason to get totally naked around him and it's not the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation anyway.

Part of him, a part he doesn't let think very often, hopes that Nick might have tentacles too. It would be an incredible thing, considering Eleanor is still the only other person Harry knows who has tentacles, but it would be so, so amazing to have somebody else, somebody he sees more often. El comes over a lot but she's dating Louis, not the both of them, so Harry gives them time alone. He doesn't imagine that they want a third on their dates or whatever, and he'd like to think he's a good enough friend that he can give Louis time to spend with somebody else.

Zayn once told him— _yelled_ at him might be more accurate considering they were arguing at the time—that he can't expect everyone to love him the most, and since then Harry's been trying to prove that he doesn't. Zayn had apologized and said he didn't mean it afterward but Harry knows it's sort of true. Not that he _needs_ everyone to love him most but, but there are some people he _wants_ to love him most.

He kind of wants Nick to love him most.

Which is absurd for a lot of reasons, but it doesn't stop Harry from wanting it. Louis like El the most, which means that the only people who like Harry the most are his family and they kind of don't count. Family is supposed to like you the most, but Harry just wants someone to text him in the middle of the night with things that don't make sense, to go to movies with him and talk obnoxiously the whole time. He's still got Louis to do those things with, obviously, but it's not quite the same as before Eleanor. Harry doesn't hold that against her, but it's still a fact. There's nobody that will drop everything to come do stuff with him, just because he asked.

And the thing is that sometimes, he thinks Nick would. He _knows_ Nick would, because he's texted Nick at four in the morning before and Nick's told him to come over and bring vodka without even asking any questions. He and Nick go to movies, and they talk on the phone, and Nick's mates with Harry's mum and the other boys like him and really, Harry wonders a little if they're not already dating and nobody's told him.

"Louis," Harry says one day while Louis is having a chat with his tentacles, "have I accidentally been dating Nick Grimshaw?"

In return, Louis gives Harry a curious look, winds one of his tentacles around his finger, and says, "You mean you're not _purposefully_ dating Nick Grimshaw?"

Harry frowns. He's pretty sure that they're not dating for real, because he thinks he would remember that conversation. Besides, he's definitely never seen Nick's dick, which is a good indicator that they're probably not dating for real. "No, I don't think so."

"Oh." Louis seems to take that in, petting Harry's tentacle with a thoughtful frown of his own. "Have you told him that? Because I'm pretty sure he doesn't know."

"Why would I have told him that? I mean, aren't you supposed to establish you're dating someone before you start dating them?" Harry throws an arm over his eyes and sighs dramatically. "You can't just expect a person to know!"

"You went to his parents' house for Christmas!" Louis counters. "Whenever you're not here, you're with him, and he's practically got 'Please come be my kept boy' tattooed on his face every time he looks at you. It's not an unreasonable assumption to make. You have _standing Saturday night dates_."

Opening his mouth to say something, Harry thinks better of it and closes his mouth again. He can't really say anything against Louis' statement, because it's not an unreasonable assumption. It's just that, well, Harry thought he had been imagining most of that stuff.

"He," Harry says, a little stunned, "likes me most?"

"Harry," says Louis, his fond exasperation almost palpable. "The only person who looks at anyone in a more disgustingly cute way than he looks at you is you looking at him."

"Oh," Harry says, so softly he barely says it at all. It's possible that he's been so busy trying not to like Nick too much that he failed to see that Nick already likes him too much. "I'm kind of an idiot, aren't I?"

"Don't know how I put up with you," Louis agrees. He's got Harry's tentacles wrapped happily around all of his fingers now, so Harry doesn't take it to heart. "I'm a saint, I am. Should be getting awards for having to deal with your googly eyes."

"Take it up with Eleanor, I'm sure she'd be happy to reward you." Louis doesn't talk much about his sex life, probably out of respect for Eleanor, but Harry knows that they're banging because Louis asked about how Harry managed it. Harry had told him in, like, the world's most awkward version of a sex talk and Eleanor had shyly thanked him the next time he saw her so Harry assumes his advice went over well. "I should probably tell Nick about my tentacles."

"You mean you're not fucking him, either?" Louis looks vaguely outraged. "Do I know nothing about your life? Is your name really Harry Styles? I've always secretly thought it was a stage name, you know. Your real name is Bernard or Oswald."

"That's why I thought we were just friends." Harry pauses, trying to sort through his memories. He can't remember them ever having sex, and he's pretty certain Nick would never fuck him if he was so sloshed he wasn't going to remember it. "I'm pretty sure I tried to blow him while I was drunk once, but he turned me down and put me to bed." 

"Oh, a gentleman." Louis wriggles his eyebrows at Harry, and his tentacles wriggle along like an incredibly bizarre game of follow the leader. "Maybe try blowing him when you're sober. I hate to tell you but you're not the master of seduction when you're wasted."

Harry sighs. "He never seemed interested in fucking me, so I never bothered trying it when I was sober."

"Everyone's interested in fucking you," replies Louis. He wiggles one of Harry's tentacles at him. "Not sure how you haven't noticed that."

"Except you," Harry says, less like a jab and more like a reminder. "And that's not what I meant. Like, I've kissed him before and it's never been the kind of kiss where you can tell the person would _really_ like to fuck you, you know?"

Louis shrugs a little. "Maybe you should just ask him. Talking might help. At least establish that you _are_ dating."

"Talking is hard." It's an excuse, but he doesn't really mean it. "I'm picking him up from work later, do you think this would be a terrible time to bring it up?"

"You're picking him up from work later and you've kissed him before and you weren't sure if you were dating." It's not a question, Louis just sounds like he's in disbelief. "I think that'd be a fine time to bring it up, yeah. Then you can hold his hand and take long walks on the beach—oh, wait, except for how you _already do those things_."

"I'm not dating you," Harry points out, which is weak as far as excuses go, "and we're lying in a bed while you play with my tentacles. My frame of reference for this stuff is really not normal."

"Hmm. Fair point," agrees Louis. "But even more fair: how many people think we _are_?"

"Everyone on the internet," Harry says, like he's repeating something he's heard a million times, "even though you have a girlfriend."

"Right you are." Louis laughs when one of Harry's tentacles tickles his cheek. "Maybe if you get a boyfriend, they'll leave me alone."

Harry laughs, shaking his head. "I doubt it. If anything, that'll probably just make them even more convinced it happened because then they'll have 'proof' that I'm gay for you."

"Hmph. Probably." Louis frowns, then shakes it off. "Doesn't matter. What matters is you bagging yourself a DJ so that you'll stop moping around here so often. Though I would miss your tentacle-y bits. And you, a little."

"You'd miss me a lot." Harry knows that it's true. It's possible that Louis likes Harry's tentacles more than he likes Harry, but he likes Harry almost as much. The whole band has gotten used to each other, and Harry misses them something fierce when they're not together. He misses Louis the most, though.

"A _little_ ," Louis insists, but his mouth is quirked to one side and he's fondly patting Harry's thigh. A lot, then. Harry knows him too well for that to work anymore.

Louis goes back to petting Harry's tentacles, telling them that Harry's stupid, and Harry thinks that it's probably going to be a little weird to explain this to Nick. Not the tentacle part, because that doesn't require anything more than taking off his pants, the part where Louis is best friends with his tentacles and he talks to them all the time. It's familiar and comfortable for them, but Harry can see how it would be weird to Nick.

Or Nick might just think it's a laugh. Nick thinks lots of things are a laugh, and more than anything he thinks _Harry's_ a laugh. Even when Harry's not trying to be funny, he can usually get at least a chuckle out of Nick. He doesn't even have to _try_.

Now that he's actually realized that he likes Nick and Nick likes him back and they've been dating, Harry thinks that maybe Nick just likes Harry and everything Harry says is amusing. Which is fine, because Harry sort of thinks that Nick hung the moon or placed the stars or something else equally impossible. It's kind of stupid, actually, how much Harry likes Nick.

Well, he says kind of stupid. It's probably really stupid, and Louis would almost definitely tell him so if he voiced that aloud, so he doesn't. Instead, he just lets Louis continue to play with his tentacles and makes a mental note to remind himself: _Tell Nick about the potentially dating thing and also about those tentacle wotsits you've got._

At some point, Eleanor calls Louis and he wanders away to go take her call. Harry stays for a moment longer and then drags himself up to get ready for picking up Nick. The fact that he actually bothers to make sure he doesn't smell gross or look like a crazy person probably says something about how much he likes Nick and wants to make a good impression. It's probably also overkill, but Harry doesn't care.

It's not like he's never smelled suspect around Nick, or, to be honest, like Nick's never smelled suspect around him. But it just seems like he should smell good if he's going to ask about being someone's boyfriend. And if he's going to be whipping out his tentacles to said potential boyfriend. And just in general, he should probably smell good; it can't hurt in his daily life.

Or his sex life. Not that Harry is setting out with the intention of getting laid, but he thinks that would be the logical conclusion. Hopes that it's the logical conclusion, maybe. Whatever, the point is that Nick is fit and Harry thinks that if they're going to do the dating thing properly then they should definitely be fucking.

As long as Nick doesn't have any issues with tentacles. But he's seen Nick eat day old pizza off a dirty floor, so logically, tentacles shouldn't be a problem for him.

He's glad his windows are tinted as he drives to pick up Nick, because it's a fantastic way to shield himself from the camera flashes. Like sunglasses but massive and windows, and not really sunglasses at all.

Harry shakes his head. Maybe he's more nervous than he thought. He's getting even more nonsensical than he usually is. He might open his mouth to ask Nick about being boyfriends and end up talking about—crossword puzzles, or cabbage, or something.

It'll just make Nick smile at him fondly, but then Harry will probably forget what he's actually supposed to be talking about and then they'll be talking about the best way to make a brownie even though neither of them cook instead of having a meaningful conversation. He breathes and tries to not be nervous. Louis would hit him and tell him he's being stupid if he saw him right then, because he is being stupid. There's nothing to be nervous about.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Nothing at all to be nervous about. At all.

Of course, he nearly has a heart attack when Nick gets into the car, but that's, that's normal. That happens all the time. Nothing to be nervous about, Nick getting into the car. That's the plan. Nick finishes doing his show and then Harry picks him up, which requires Nick getting into the car. Normal. Not nerve-racking.

"What do you reckon the difference between a chocolate cake and a brownie is?" Harry doesn't mean to say that, and he mentally winces at how bad he is at this and tries to backtrack. "And, um. I was talking with Louis earlier and he told me we were dating."

Okay maybe he was onto something, being nervous. This is going about as badly as it could.

Nick sort of bobs his head, then frowns, then shakes his head. "Alright," he says slowly, leaning back in his seat. "One thing at a time, most important thing first. I think brownies are sort of denser, maybe. And they're smaller. Cake is generally in a pretty sizable portion?"

"You could just cut larger brownies," Harry says, because well. He's not going lie about the fact that he's eaten whole trays of brownies. He also thinks that maybe he should've already known the difference, but it's been a while since he's worked in a bakery and the brownies had always kind of looked like cake to him. "Are we dating, though?"

"D'you want to be?" Nick reasons. It's hard to think things in general when Nick's being reasonable. Nick's not a very reasonable person. He spends a lot of his time dedicated to being unreasonable and when he's not doing that it throws Harry all out of order.

The answer is _yes_ , whole-heartedly and without exception, but Harry's seized with a moment of doubt. If Nick's only doing it for his sake, if Nick doesn't want this as much, it would suck. He sighs and taps his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. Still.

"Yes," Harry says, finally. "I really would."

"Good," decides Nick. He relaxes and leans back in his seat. "I've been trying to woo you for ages. I'm glad to see it's finally worked."

And Harry—he hasn't noticed any wooing. Well, any _overt_ wooing. He guesses Nick could've been wooing him on the down-low. Wooing and subterfuge. But then that probably defeats the purpose of wooing altogether.

"It would have been better if you just said," Harry mumbles. He thinks that maybe the world would be a lot better if everyone just said that they liked someone and cut all the guessing and worry out.

Nick gives him a pointed look. "Why didn't _you_ just say?" he asks, and that's. Well, that's a good question.

"I kissed you! Multiple times." It's sort of a weak excuse, given that Harry kisses just about everyone, but it's the only one he can come up with that isn't related to _I like you too much_.

"While you were drunk. You kiss everyone when you're drunk. I've seen you kiss _plants_ when you're drunk." Nick just looks amused, but it's sort of his default expression, so he could be blank-faced. Harry can't tell and it's a little worrisome.

"I don't try to go down on plants when I'm drunk," Harry says. It sounds a lot stupider out loud than it did in his head.

Nick looks a bit like he's going to challenge that but changes his mind. "Okay, so now we've both just said, haven't we? I'd like to be dating you. You'd like to be dating me. There's an obvious solution here, young Harold."

"We should date," Harry says, which was the entire point of the whole conversation in the first place. "Although apparently we've been doing that for a while, according to Louis."

"Knows everything, Louis does. You should really listen to him more often. He's got a good head on his shoulders." Nick gives Harry a grin, smaller than the ones he gives random celebrities but no less charming. Everything about Nick is charming.

"I do listen to Louis." He doesn't listen to Louis all the time, because even Harry knows that some of Louis' ideas aren't good ideas, but he listens to Louis when it matters.

"You do," Nick agrees. "Most of the time. And if he's the one who got you to figure out we've been dating for ages, I probably owe him something."

"I think he just wants us to be actually dating, because apparently I spend too much time hanging around and moping." Harry pauses. He thinks Louis probably also wants them to fuck, but that's not really the kind of thing to bring up during a heartfelt conversation. Or in a car. "He did say he should get a reward for putting up with me, though."

"You _are_ the reward for putting up with you." Nick ruffles Harry's hair gently, giving his head a fond pat. "It's the joy of your presence, y'see. Eighth wonder of the world. You're a delight."

Harry tries not to lean into the touch and fails, a little. Nick doesn't seem to mind, though, which probably says something about how gone they are for each other. Probably Harry should bring up his tentacles at some point soon. Or maybe he should wait until they get to Nick's flat and he can do it properly.

He wonders if there can really be a proper way to bring up the fact that you've got tentacles instead of genitalia. He's not very practiced at it. Normally he just takes his trousers off and his tentacles are pretty heavily implied. Other than that, Harry has no methods of breaking the news of his tentacles to people who aren't expecting it.

Pulling up to Nick's place, Harry's still thinking about how to break news about tentacles to Nick. Nick touches his shoulder, and Harry jumps slightly, caught off-guard.

Nick frowns. "You all right?"

"Yeah, perfect," Harry near-babbles. "I'm great. Better than great. Is there a word for better than great, because I'm it. The greatest. Ever."

The look on Nick's face says that he doesn't believe any of what Harry's saying, but he's going to let it go. Harry's glad he's not going to push, because he's pretty sure that he'd end up blurting out that he has tentacles, and there's people around. It's probably not a good idea for Harry Styles of One Direction to be yelling about tentacles in the street. Or, well. Maybe not yelling. Regardless.

"Come on," says Nick, giving Harry's shoulder a firm rub. It's the kind of touch that steadies, which is exactly what Harry needs. He takes a deep breath in, and out, because this is Nick and Nick once drunkenly told Harry if he could take three things to an island Harry would be one of them. Probably, his tentacles won't be a massive issue. Nick continues, "It's late, past your bedtime, Styles."

"I'm not the old man here," Harry says, falling back on their usual back and forth. It's comfortable and familiar, which is exactly what Harry wants right then. "If it were up to me, we'd be partying until the sun comes up."

"If it were up to you, we'd be making quiche or something equally ridiculous." Nick gives him an easy smile as he slides out of the car. "Watching GBBO until the sun comes up is more like it."

"That's a party." Harry shrugs. It's the kind of party he prefers when he wants to hang out with friends, anyway. It's not that going to crazy parties full of celebrities isn't fun, it's just that they're not the sort of place anyone can really just hang out with their friends. Everybody wants something out of you. "We'd probably burn a quiche, though."

"What's the one you know how to make? The pie thing." Nick ponders over that for the entirety of the walk into his building. "Oh well, unless you can make it out of old satsumas and vodka, I don't think that's an option anyway."

"Do you ever have actual food at your place?" The answer is _no_ , and Harry knows that. Nick never cooks, and the only time his kitchen ever gets used is when someone else takes over it and makes something. Harry's not sure you can make _anything_ from just satsumas and vodka.

"Satsumas are food!" Nick protests, and they are but they're not _food_. There's a difference. "And if you're drunk enough, vodka can be food, too."

"Are you listening to yourself talk? Vodka isn't food at all." Occasionally Harry wonders how Nick has survived at all, what with how bad he is at taking care of himself. Probably Nick's always had people take care of him. "Your liver is going to fail if you try to use vodka as food."

"Nah." Nick grins at him, lopsided and rakish. "You'll keep me from doing myself a disservice, won't you? You're always keeping me out of trouble."

"That's a little backwards, isn't it? You're supposed to be keeping me out of trouble, I'm the teenage popstar." There's a whole team of people whose sole job is to keep Harry out of trouble, though, so Nick doesn't really need to do that at all. Besides, Harry's kept himself out of trouble well enough so far.

"You would think," agrees Nick, "but I'm really a child inside. You're older than your years. Wisdom in your eyes, there is. Wisdom and maturity."

Pausing for Nick to open the door to his apartment, Harry follows him in. "I think you're talking about Liam, not me. He's the one that's mature and full of wisdom."

Nick gives him a look that's just this side of lewd. "Oh, and you're full of other things, are you, Harry Styles?"

"No," Harry says, lips twisting up, "but I could be."

"Too right you could." Nick tilts his head, brushing his knuckles over the side of Harry's neck. Nick doesn't seem like the type to really try for seduction, especially since technically Harry's sure he's already been seduced. It's not like Nick needs to try any harder than he already is, or be anything he's not.

Turning, Harry settles his fingers on Nick's hips. He wants to kiss him, but if he did that then he'd forget about mentioning his tentacles and they'd be halfway to naked before it got brought up. It's happened before, and it's not exactly the most fun thing to sort out. "I have to tell you something first."

"Okay," says Nick affably. "Same thing you needed to tell me before?" He doesn't seem terribly concerned, but then, he probably wouldn't jump to the conclusion that Harry wants to talk to him about how he's got tentacles. It's a bit of a leap.

"No, it's." Pulling away from Nick just a little, Harry fiddles with the waistband of his jeans. There are other ways to tell Nick, but Harry figures it's probably better to go with straightforward. Showing is better than telling anyway, isn't it? "I'm just going to show you."

Unbuttoning his jeans, Harry shoves them down just a little. His tentacles unfurl slowly, like they're waking up from a nap, and Harry's glad he decided to forgo underwear to make this part easier. 

"Oh." Nick sounds surprised, which is only normal. "Oh, those are—alright," he says slowly. He doesn't seem disgusted, at least, which was the worst reaction Harry had envisioned when he thought about what might happen.

His tentacles are reaching out toward Nick, possibly because they know there's someone there and they've become obnoxious attention whores since meeting Louis. Harry's not sure what to say, because he doesn't have a whole lot of experience doing this and it never gets any easier. "You can touch them," he says, slightly hesitant. "The worst they'll do is leave little sucker marks in their wake."

Nick reaches out, and he's not tentative at all, which Harry likes. He doesn't think there's much Nick's been tentative about in his life. His tentacles seize on Nick once he's touched one of them, all clamoring for his attention like overexcited puppies, and Nick laughs when one seems to claim the anchor tattoo on his wrist as their own. "Just like you, aren't they?" Nick murmurs. "Very clingy and too cute for their own good."

"Yeah," Harry says. "We know what we like." As much as Louis treats his tentacles like they're separate from Harry, they're not. Harry knows that his tentacles respond to things the same way he does, and they only get excited like this when they're near someone Harry likes a lot.

"I'm sort of glad you brought it up, actually." Nick rubs the pad of his thumb over one of Harry's longer tentacles and it nearly purrs. "Because it makes it a lot easier to tell you something, actually."

For a second, Harry forgets how to breathe. Or, well, it's not so much that he forgets as he doesn't breathe for a moment because it's just. Why would Nick even say something like that unless he had some genitalia-related secret? Or just a secret in general, but Harry's really hoping that it's something similar to his own secret. Glancing up at Nick, Harry smiles. "Yeah? What's your secret, then?"

Nick keeps the half-smile on his face, his eyes lowered—ostensibly to watch Harry's tentacles play with his fingers, but Harry recognizes the tactic, and Nick is avoiding his eyes. "I, er. I sort of come chocolate."

"That," Harry says, sounding a little awed, "is the best thing I have ever heard. Can I blow you? Please say I can blow you."

"You just _believe_ me?" Nick asks, his expression delighted but bewildered. "I could be lying to get you to suck my cock, you know. Not that you wouldn't anyway, but you're entirely too trusting, Harry. That said: Of course you can, I'm not an idiot."

Harry gives Nick a pointed look. "I have tentacles. It would be really shit if you were making up something just to get me to blow you, _especially_ because I would do it anyway. Come on, you had to have known that from Caroline." Untangling himself from Nick's wrist, Harry settles his hands on Nick's hips again. "Are we doing this here, are should we take it to your bedroom?"

"Easier in the bedroom, I think." Nick strokes a hand down Harry's side and then back up, slow and steady. "Might smell a bit like a Mars Bar, though. Sorry in advance."

"I don't know why you're apologizing for that," Harry says, trying not to shiver. "I mean, I like going down on girls, but I'd probably never stop if they all smelt like Mars Bars and tasted like chocolate."

Nick gives him a curious look. "Have you ever gone down on a guy before?" he asks. "Because if not, this isn't going to be a very normal first experience."

"You could say I have a thing for Grimshaws." Smiling, Harry shrugs. There's more to that story, but now is not the time or place for it. "You'll be the second one I've gone down on."

"Ooh," says Nick, with a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "A secondhand Grimshaw. Bet I'm the first one with chocospunk, though."

"The only person ever actually," Harry says. He almost says something sappy, like _you'll be the last person I sleep with anyway_ , but he doesn't. It feels too soon to be saying things like that. "Am I your first with tentacles?"

"My very first. Which is saying something, as I've not got a lot of firsts left to give." Nick gives him a little smile of his own, and Harry imagines he's stopping himself from saying something just as sappy. It makes him feel a bit better about himself.

"Well then," Harry says, turning to walk to Nick's bedroom, "come on."

Nick comes on. Harry feels giddy about it, not because he has any deep-seated desire to order Nick about, but because he knows that if he did really want to, Nick would listen to him. Harry likes having that bit of power even if he doesn't ever plan on using it.

On the way to Nick's bedroom, Harry sheds his pants because they're falling down anyway and he can't walk with them halfway down his thighs. It would be a little forward, but Nick's already had his hands on Harry's tentacles so Harry figures that it's pretty much expected. He ditches his shirt too, because being half dressed is kind of silly when it's only a shirt and Harry prefers being naked when he can be.

"Don't waste any time, do you?" It doesn't sound mocking, like people can sometimes get when Harry strips off around them. Mostly Nick sounds happy, and a little bit eager. Harry understands that because he's eager himself, and happier than he's been in quite a while.

Harry sits on the edge of Nick's bed, legs carelessly spread. "Clothes are better when they're off." He watches as Nick strips out of his shirt, like a private show even though there's no finesse to the motion. Harry's seen it done sexier, but in that moment it doesn't matter because Nick is all he wants.

"I wish I had tentacles," says Nick conversationally as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes. "Like a fun party trick, isn't it? Whip them out and have a day of it. Can they do tricks? Do you ever put funny hats on them?"

Briefly Harry think about Eleanor, thinks about Liam's face when he first saw them, thinks about the fact that he's only ever shown his tentacles to a handful of people. He shrugs. "They're not as much fun as you might think. Don't let Louis hear you say that thing about party hats, by the way, otherwise he'll make dozens of hats for them."

"What I wouldn't give to see Louis Tomlinson knitting little hats for your tentacles." Nick joins Harry on the bed, and reaches over to give one of Harry's tentacles a little scratch on its nonexistent chin. "I like them," he declares. "They're very you, and I like you."

"I like you too," Harry says. He thinks it's a shame that they haven't kissed yet, so Harry shifts to straddle Nick. The position is slightly precarious, but Nick steadies him automatically and Harry tilts his head to press their lips together.

Nick's a very good kisser, not that Harry expected anything different. He fixes the angle and keeps one hand at Harry's hip while the other slides into his hair like it belongs there, like it's meant to be there. Really, Harry needs to stop having such sentimental thoughts when he and Nick have only been dating (officially) about twenty minutes.

It's not really anything he can help, though, because he's been bottling up his stupid sentimental thoughts for ages. Now that he's finally allowed to think them, they all come tumbling out without his permission. He just hopes he doesn't accidentally say any of them out loud—not that he thinks that Nick would mind. Nick's probably stopping himself from saying the same things, and Harry thinks that when he's comfortable saying them then they can all come out. He wants to keep them to himself for the moment, though, because the moment he says them they become real and Harry's not sure he's ready to acknowledge that he loves Nick that much yet.

What he is ready to acknowledge is that he really really wants to touch Nick's dick. A lot. And he's wanted to for a long time but now it's right there and he's got permission and _chocolate is going to come out of it_ if Harry touches it enough and, well, that's enough incentive for him.

Wrapping his fingers around Nick's cock, Harry tries to get a feel for it. He's made the mistake of just going in for a blowjob without knowing what he's getting himself into before, and choking on someone's dick is about the least sexy thing there is. Nick's on the slightly thicker side of the spectrum, and at some point Harry is definitely going to get Nick to fuck him with it, because it'll burn the way he likes, but that's not his goal for the moment. He moves, carefully sinking down to his knees, and looks up at Nick.

Nick, who looks a little like someone's hit him upside the head. "Never thought I'd get to see this, y'know," he says quietly, one hand scritching through Harry's curls. "Thought about it a few times, but you're actually there now."

"I've wanted to do this for ages," Harry says, just before taking Nick most of the way down. It's showing off, and Harry definitely doesn't need to do it, but it's something Harry's maybe had on his mind for a while. It's the sort of thought that makes Harry wish he understood how his tentacles worked better so he could have a proper wank. As it is, his tentacles mostly just get excited, and Harry walks around sexually frustrated until it goes away.

Nick might know how to deal with his tentacles. Harry hopes they can have a good time with it, and he can figure out his tentacles with Nick, maybe even be able to jerk them off or whatever, however you do things with tentacles. He's tried before but it's like what he imagines jerking off would be like if you have twenty dicks and they all moved independently of each other.

Licking over the head of Nick dick, Harry tries to see if Nick's precome tastes different too. He can, as Nick said, smell the chocolate sort of faintly. The taste of chocolate spreads across his tongue, and it definitely improves the experience. It's still sort of salty, but Harry thinks he's been effectively ruined all over blowjobs forever.

It's a bit like—like these things they used to have in the bakery, dark chocolate coins with sea salt. They were delicious and Nick is delicious, salty and sweet at the same time. Harry wonders, well, he wonders a lot of things all at once but nothing is as important right now as getting Nick off with his mouth, so that's what he concentrates on.

Blowjobs are significantly less complicated than going down on girls, in Harry's opinion, because there's fewer variables involved. What one guy likes is pretty much what any guy likes, so Harry doesn't have to think a whole lot about what he's doing. He doesn't try for fancy beyond his initial trick, instead focusing on making it good. They're not mutually exclusive, but when there's no point in showing off, it's not really worth the effort. Harry thinks that Nick would be happy with almost anything he did.

Nick might even be happy with no blowjob at all, though it's got to be a bonus. Even the best day in the world could probably be improved by a blowjob or two. And the best blowjob in the world can only be improved by chocolate. Harry could give the shittiest head in history and it'd still be pretty good if there's chocolate at the end. Well, for him. But even for Nick, a mouth on your cock's a mouth on your cock.

At some point Nick's hand moved away from Harry's hair, which won't do. Harry finds Nick's hand with his own, and places it back on top of his head. The message seems to come across, because Nick runs his fingers through Harry's hair, and Harry hums happily. At some point he'll be more explicit about the hair thing, let Nick know it's okay to be a little rough about it, but for the moment the weight of Nick's hand is enough.

Nick's fingers stroke through his hair, and it makes Harry happy, which makes his tentacles happy (not that they've stopped being happy at any point during this process). They're wriggling about, and it tickles his thighs, and a laugh gets caught in Harry's throat that he thinks Nick can feel if the sharp intake of breath is any indication.

Harry would smirk, if his mouth weren't full of cock. As it is, he just licks over the head of Nick's cock again and tries not to laugh too much. He's choked doing that before, which tends to ruin the mood of an otherwise perfectly good blowjob.

He thinks Nick can feel it though, or sense it, because he gives the back of Harry's neck a slight pinch. It doesn't hurt, just feels like a warning, but Harry just swallows down a little more and looks up at Nick through the curly fringe in front of his eyes.

Swallowing is something he's learned to do, because bathroom quickies kind of necessitate being neat, but Harry sort of feels like making a mess of himself. He pulls back ever so slightly, letting some of Nick's come spill out of his mouth while he swallows the rest. Licking over the head of Nick's cock, Harry pulls away and licks his lips.

"It _is_ chocolate!" he exclaims. It's not that he'd actually thought Nick was lying, but it's still surprising, the burst of familiar sweetness on his tongue.

"Come here," Nick says, reaching for Harry. Harry goes, gingerly rising up. His knees are protesting, but they'll be okay so long as he doesn't do that again soon. Nick pulls him close once he's standing on his knees, licking away stray chocolate from the corner of his mouth. "Yup," Nick confirms, "it's chocolate all right."

"I'd make a joke about white chocolate," says Harry, his own tongue swiping across his lips, "but I'm far too classy for that."

"Sure you are." Nick laughs, kissing Harry soundly. He licks his way into Harry's mouth, like he's chasing the taste of himself, and Harry lets him.

The taste of chocolate lingers in his mouth like it would if he'd just had a chocolate bar or cake or something, except it wasn't either of those things: it was Nick's come. This is _mental_ , but it's also amazing, and Harry's got tentacles so he supposes his grasp on what's mental or not isn't exactly without its biases.

He thinks pretty much anyone would agree that chocolate come is mental, though. Awesome, but mental. It's possible that kissing Nick makes him a little stupid, but Harry thinks kissing Nick would make anyone stupid. Good kissing should blow your mind, Harry thinks, and Nick's doing a good job of it.

"Your tentacle-y bits," murmurs Nick, the kiss broken but his lips still nudging against Harry's, damp and enticing. "Is there a way to get them off?"

"I've never been able to get them off, exactly," Harry says, pulling away from Nick to stand up properly and get on the bed. "If you touch them, though, they're sensitive."

"Yeah?" asks Nick. He doesn't pause, setting his fingers to Harry's tentacles. He touches them gently at first, like he's not sure if he should, and then when they just flutter at him happily, a little more firm.

When his tentacles are like this, Harry can't help the way his eyes flutter shut. It's different from the way they are normally, where he can sort of feel what's going on in the same sort of distant way he can feel when someone plays with his fingers or hair. The sensation is sharper and more focused, unexpected in ways that make his breathing hitch.

"Oh, that's nice," mutters Nick. He sounds a bit muffled but it's probably just the blood rushing in Harry's ears. He's never—Louis plays with his tentacles all the time, but he never has when they're like this. Nobody has, except for Harry, and that's altogether different from what they feel like when Nick's the one touching them.

"Nick," Harry says, and it sounds sort of strangled. He doesn't know what goes after it either, so he just lets it hang in the air for Nick to figure out. Nick kisses him, which is good as anything.

He'd like it if that's what could come after Nick's name for the rest of forever, kissing. If every time he said Nick's name, Nick kissed him, he thinks he'd talk about Nick a lot more if nothing else, and that's a rule he's willing to follow.

It would also be good if Nick's hands never left his tentacles, but Harry can see how that might be a little harder to arrange. He's happy with the current situation, though, and Harry thinks that if he could come, then he would. "Hey," Nick says, "do you think I could blow you?"

That's . . . new. Harry's never even thought about that, never let himself think about it because he's sure it wouldn't be pleasant for the person on the other end, sucking off tentacles. "If you wanted?" he offers carefully. "But, don't, you don't have to."

"I want to," Nick says. He pauses, eyes scanning over Harry like he's figuring the best way to proceed. His fingers still on Harry's tentacles, and they twine around Nick like the whiny things they are. "Lie down," Nick says, stroking his thumb absently over one of the tentacles, "I'm too old to be on my knees for however long this is going to take."

Ordinarily, Harry'd make a quip of some sort, about how Nick's too old for fucking loads of things. He does want satisfied tentacles, though, and if he's mean to Nick then he might not get that. Nick does hold a grudge terribly well, and he's already got off, so Harry doesn't even have leverage left. He reclines on the bed, arranging himself so that he can still see Nick.

Nick settles himself between Harry's thighs, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the tip of one tentacle. It's whisperlight, and Harry wouldn't know it happened at all if he couldn't see it. Still, it doesn't prepare him for the way that Nick parts his lips and takes the tentacle into his mouth. Honestly, if blowjobs even feel half this good, then Harry isn't sure why people aren't always disappointed that someone isn't continually blowing them.

Maybe they are. Niall complains about it enough that it's certainly possible that blowjobs are this nice. It does seem impossible, though, when there's all this wet warmth and mouth? And Nick? And Nick's mouth? On his tentacles? Nobody's mouth has ever been on Harry's tentacles, apart from once or twice when Louis has given them little kisses good night, but that was nothing like this.

There's another tentacle brushing against the corner of Nick's mouth, and he parts his lips slightly to let it slip between his lips too. His fingers are skimming over some of the longer ones, and Harry isn't sure he can actually take this, fingers flexing uselessly against the sheets. Nick seems to sense that Harry's floundering, and his free hand finds Harry's, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. Harry tries to breathe, but it's erratic and he can't seem to make his heart calm down. It's beating too fast, and Harry has the fleeting thought that he could die if this keeps up. 

Can you die from a blowjob? Probably not, probably Harry's just exaggerating, but it _feels_ like he could die and wow maybe that's why people aren't upset that continual blowjobs are a thing. They'd probably kill more people every year than . . . something that kills a lot of people. Harry's having a difficult time pulling thoughts together coherently, so he can't think of one but it's definitely more than sharks or pianos.

There are three tentacles in Nick's mouth now, and another sort of trailing close to his lips, like it's thinking of a way to surreptitiously get in on the action. Nick can't have given too many tentacle blowjobs in his time but he's fucking _stellar_ at it, from what Harry can tell. He isn't cringing or gagging or anything, just sucking with this firm wet pressure that Harry thinks is probably going to be the last thing he ever feels if it keeps up like it is.

With four tentacles in his mouth, Nick looks kind of obscene. Harry wonders if it's anything what he looks like sucking cock, and okay. He definitely is never going to be able to look at Nick's mouth the same way again. There's a scattering of tiny red circles fading across his cheeks, and the image of Nick between his thighs is going to be burned into his brain forever. That's something Harry can live with, though, because it's such a pretty sight he's certainly not going to complain about it.

Nick laughs a little, and that's, that's an interesting sensation. It almost makes Harry pass out, and he takes several deep breaths while Nick pulls back.

"Suckering my tongue," Nick murmurs, nuzzling into the other tentacles. They seem pleased to be getting attention. "Tickled."

Harry moans, because he's not sure he can string together the words he wants right then. Nick chuckles before he licks up the length of one tentacle, which makes Harry whimper. Glancing up at Harry through his lashes, Nick smirks, repeating the motion. Absently, Harry thinks that Nick is the _worst_ in all the best ways.

His tentacles aren't really shaped like dicks at all, but Nick is handling them just fine, petting one or two or six with one hand while the other helps guide them to his mouth, so that he can suck lightly enough that Harry wants more but also doesn't, just in case it _is_ possible to die from this.

"I." Harry pauses, trying to put together a coherent sentence. He can't pull what he wants together, though. " _Nick_ ," he says instead, a shorthand for what he wants to say that he hopes Nick understands.

Nick hiccups another laugh and his eyes lift to meet Harry's, full of mischief and amusement and everything else that Nick's always feeling. It's one of the reasons he's so amazing to Harry, because he's always bubbling over with these lovely emotions and always so eager to share them with everyone else.

He thinks he might want to say _I love you_ or maybe _you're perfect_ , but the words are all caught in his throat. Instead of trying to make them work when they're sure to come out wrong, Harry just squeezes Nick's hand. Nick squeezes back, and it's. Harry doesn't know how to explain the way it makes him feel safe and also about to explode.

He has no idea what's going to happen when—is it still called coming when it's tentacles? Is it called anything? Harry doesn't know if there's a word for it when you orgasm but you're got tentacles. There probably isn't, but there should be.

It's the kind of thing that Louis is good at, making up words for things, and Harry would make a note to ask him about it if he had any space in his head to think about stuff besides the Nick and what Nick's doing. He gives a choked-off sort of sob, and Nick runs his thumb over Harry's hip. Harry tries to calm down, tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, and he's not very good at it at all.

He doesn't think it's unreasonable to be so overwhelmed at a time like this. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before, and certainly not with Nick, who he's been wanting to do things like this with for . . . ages, really. It feels so amazing and Harry wants it to go on forever, but it can't. He doesn't think it can, anyway.

One of Harry's tentacles wraps itself around Nick's finger, and he rubs his thumb down the length of it while he licks at the tip of another. If you asked, Harry wouldn't be able to tell you if that triggers what happens next or it's just a build-up of everything so far. All he knows is that one minute he's squeezing his eyes shut and blanking out.

When he drifts back into a more coherent state, Nick looks like he's been chewing on a pen that's exploded all over his face. Harry blinks at him, and Nick swipes as his lips, looking down at his fingers disbelievingly. "Well," he says, "I guess now we know that you . . . ink."

"Oh, oh no," is all Harry can say, weakly. All of his limbs feel a little like when he drags his feet walking on carpet and then touches something, sort of static-y and odd. His tentacles feel like they're humming, which is even more odd, and he's just inked all over Nick, who was doing this massively nice thing for him. He feels awful, except he also just feels bloody brilliant.

"It's fine," Nick says, rolling his eyes. He rubs his fingers together, spreading the blue-black around. "I think you might've gotten ink in my quiff, though."

Harry winces. "Yeah, looks like it." He lifts a hand—which works, and he was half expecting it to just flop about uselessly, so that's something—and strokes his fingers through the front of Nick's hair. It's damp with the ink and Harry's fingertips come back stained with it. He thinks he should probably feel more apologetic than smug, but, well, he's pretty much just smug. He can't help the way he feels.

Touching the hand that's still wet with ink to Harry's face, Nick pulls him in for a kiss. Harry can tell that it's getting all over his face, and he figures that's only fair. He licks Nick's lips, and finds the taste of himself. It tastes a little the ocean smells, briny in that particular way things that come from the sea are, and it's not that bad. It pales in comparison to Nick, but that can't be helped. Everything pales in comparison to chocolate.

"There," Nick says when he pulls away from the kiss, "now we're even."

"Yeah," Harry agrees, his head all in a daze. "Yeah, even." They're not even at all until Harry's dick can come, like, pizza or something. Whatever's as good as chocolate. Nick's as good as chocolate, but Harry doesn't think he can come Nick. 

Apparently, orgasms make him have even weirder thoughts than he normally does. That's something new.

"Do you think this'll wash off? If my face looks anything like yours, we're both right messes." Harry doesn't tell Nick that they really are messes, because Nick's face is half-smeared with the blue-black ink and Harry can feel it drying on his skin too. They look ridiculous, in all likelihood, and Harry can't even be pressed to care.

"Depends on whether it's Sharpie ink or not, I suppose." Nick wrinkles his nose and rubs inky fingers together. "Feels thin, though. It'll probably come out with a bit of scrubbing. Or we can do a double act as homo-erotic Smurfs."

"I'm pretty sure they'd try to bleach my skin before they let Harry, teenage popstar, be a homo-erotic Smurf." The people who deal with things like the image of the band are already annoyed by all the tattoos. He thinks that if he showed up blue, they might actually pitch a fit. "So probably we should try and wash up."

"Probably, we should," agrees Nick, heaving himself up beside Harry. A little bit on top of him, actually. It's nice, feels like Harry's covered in a blanket of Nick, wrapped up and protected. Nick's not even squashing any of his tentacles, which is courteous of him.

And okay. They could do the responsible thing and wash-up, but Harry's comfortable and warm with Nick next to him and he doesn't at all want to move. Shifting a little, Harry fits their lips together again. Kissing Nick is preferable to almost anything, and Nick doesn't see to mind at all.

Harry kisses him until Nick's lips don't taste like ink any more, they just taste like lips, Nick's lips. And even then, when it's just his lips on Nick's lips, and he doesn't even have the vague excuse in the back of his mind that it's washing their mouths, at least, even then he doesn't stop.

Nick lets him do it, doesn't tell him to stop, and Harry's kissed people for hours before but it's never been because. It's sort of like Harry wants to know every bit of Nick's mouth, every better than his own. He wants to know what spots make Nick shiver against him, what spots make him twitch away, and how to best make him fall apart. He wants the feeling of Nick's skin etched onto his fingertips like a memory, but mostly he just. Never wants to stop.

It does stop, eventually, because they have to do human things like eat and pee and sleep, when it comes time to. Even then, though, they pass the time with kisses, in between bites of food and before they sleep, with Harry tucked against Nick's side like a keepsake, nuzzled close enough that his tentacles can curl possessively over Nick's thigh. Harry sleeps easily like that. As easily as anything ever is, anymore.

"I'm glad you have Nick," Louis tells him one day when they're side-by-side on Harry's bed, noses almost touching. "He's good for you."

Harry grins. It's probably goofy on his face, but Nick makes him _feel_ goofy, so that's appropriate. "He is," he agrees. "Really good. Even if my tentacles still like you better."

"That's because your tentacles are smart," Louis says, running his fingers through them fondly. They all try to twine around Louis' fingers, but he frees himself without thinking about it. It's sort of weird how he and Louis do this, and he'd tried to explain it to Nick, but Nick had given up and said that so long as Harry and Louis weren't actually having sex, then he didn't much care. "They know I'm clearly superior to Nick." 

"Shh," says Harry. He can't muster up much more than that, especially when he knows Louis hasn't got anything against Nick at all. Harry certainly hangs out with Nick more than Louis does, but all of Louis' interactions with Nick have been pleasant enough. "You don't suck on them, so Nick's superior in at least one way."

"I could," Louis says, still absently petting at Harry's tentacles, "but I'm still certain it would come off weird. Besides, that's Nick job. I'm letting him have it for the rest of time."

"I hope so," Harry sighs. He sounded a bit dreamy there. Oh, well. Louis likes to make fun of how sappy he gets over Nick anyway. And he likes giving Louis things he likes to do.

"You're so gone for him." Louis looks kind of fond when he says it, and Harry would kiss him but that requires moving and he's comfortable where he is. "I still say I deserve an award for putting up with your soppy nonsense."

"I'd kiss your tentacles if you had any," Harry offers. Those, he could probably reach without moving too much. Louis could just let his tentacles roam where they pleased and Harry could give them mouth cuddles. "You haven't, though, so bad luck on that."

"You and Eleanor take up all the space in Tentaworld, s'why." One of Harry's tentacles is wrapped around Louis wrist and leaving a ring of sucker marks. Louis leaves it there and lets it do what it likes. "I don't think anyone else is allowed in."

"You'd be allowed in Tentaworld," says Harry with a bit of a burst of affection for Louis, always so kind to him and his tentacles, always so very kind. "You're like an honorary member of the Tentaclub, anyway. You've got a guest pass. So like, you can ride all the rides."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Have you talked to Nick about that? I suspect he'd want a say in whether or not I'm riding a certain ride in Tentaworld."

"Not his guest pass to give out, is it?" Harry grumps. "And anyway, he already thought you were riding all my rides anyway, I think. That's the impression he gave me."

"Eleanor thought I was riding all your rides too," Louis says. Harry thinks about the fact that he and Louis spend an awful lot of time cuddling naked, and the fact that Eleanor has joined their naked cuddlepiles on a couple occasions. He sees how she could get that impression.

He frowns a little, thinking. "I don't think we have been riding each other's rides. I'd remember that, wouldn't I?" he asks.

"We had this conversation, remember? When you asked and I didn't want to sleep with you." The look Louis gives Harry is patient, and Harry thinks. He does recall having that conversation and being upset that Louis didn't want to sleep with him. 

"Yes, that was a very dark time in my life," Harry replies. "I don't like to think of it very much, as it makes my heart ache and my soul shrivel."

"Hey," Louis says, shifting so he can touch their noses together, "it got better. We both found really awesome people that love us even though we're weird."

"We did." Harry smiles, and closes his eyes. It's nice to just feel Louis this close. He likes when they do this, especially when he's been worrying, lately, that gaining Nick means he'll have to lose Louis. He's glad that's not the case. "We're very lucky."

"I love you," Louis says, with an absoluteness Harry appreciates. There's something nice about knowing that someone loves you (no matter what kind of love it is) so totally that there's very little you could do to dissuade them from loving you.

He nudges his nose up next to Louis', the tiniest stretch of his neck. "I love you, too," he whispers, and through no fault of his own, his words brush against Louis' mouth, caught between them and held there for a moment in time.

It's Louis that closes the space between them to press their lips together, like he's trying to swallow Harry's words to keep them in his heart. Harry kisses back, because it's polite, and they kiss all the time anyway. There's nothing different about this kiss, except for the small, tiny part of Harry that _knows_ there's something different about it. He doesn't pay that much attention to that part at all.

It's easier to just let the kiss happen like it wants to, and like Harry wants it to, slow and steady and exactly like them. They've kissed before, kissed what must've been hundreds of times, because what are personal boundaries when your best friend's tentacles like to nap on you? This feels like a dream, because for all Harry knows they've kissed like this, his brain keeps reminding him they've never kissed like _this_.

Harry's fingers settle on Louis' hip, and Louis' fingers are still settled among his tentacles. It's a position they're in all the time, a situation that's ostensibly not any different from any of a dozen other times, but Harry knows that something's changed. Louis must be able to feel it too, because he breaks the kiss a little abruptly, blinking at Harry.

"What was that?" he asks, voice fuzzy. Like Harry's got any idea, like Harry wasn't just asking himself the same thing.

"I don't know," he says, "but I think that's. That's what El and Nick see."

He's so close still that he can see Louis' throat bob when he swallows. "Yeah," Louis says, and he nods a bit, as much as he can when their faces are practically touching. "Yeah, that'd do it, wouldn't it?"

"I think we need to." Harry pauses, trying to pull up the words. He's not sure how to phrase it, though. Need to what? Need to reevaluate everything they thought about their friendship? Need to talk to their significant others? Need to get away from each other? No. "I think we knew this was going to happen."

Louis sighs. "It was worth a try, holding it off." The corner of his mouth turns up. "I don't think your tentacles saw it that way. They seem very pleased with this outcome."

Glancing down, Harry smiles at the sight of his tentacles twined around Louis hand like they're claiming it for themselves. "Yeah, they do."

"And how about you?" Louis asks. It sounds casual, but Harry knows Louis inside and out, and he can see the slight caution in the lines of his face. "How do you feel about this?"

"I feel like." Harry sighs, bumping his nose against Louis' again. He wants to say he feels like nothing's changed, because that is how it feels, but he knows that's not the question Louis is asking. He doesn't quite know how to answer the question Louis is asking. "I feel like I don't know how to feel."

"Yeah. _Yeah_ ," Louis repeats, emphatically. He doesn't move away, which Harry's happy about, and instead nudges their lips together once. It's not meant to lead anywhere and Harry recognizes it, more exploratory than anything.

The kiss is what it is, so Harry takes it that way. He still doesn't really want to have sex with Louis, not precisely, but he wants this: sweet, searching kisses that mean everything and nothing all at once. Absently, Harry thinks he should probably talk to Nick soon and . . . say what? That he's in love with his best friend? Harry's pretty sure Nick knows that. That he kissed Louis? Nick knows that too. Fundamentally, this isn't anything different from what they already did and yet, Harry feels the shimmer of newness to the situation.

So he'll tell Nick, because, because he's Nick's, really; in most of the ways that he doesn't belong to Louis, he belongs to Nick. And Nick will get it, because Nick's seen them and he knows that sometimes it's not about the sex when you love people, it's just about the closeness. It's about the places in them that you've yet to discover and the places you've already discovered where you want to stay because they make you feel warm and safe. Louis has always been one of those places for Harry.

Nick is another one of those places, but it's different. Louis is like coming home, everything familiar and warm. Harry doesn't second-guess himself with Louis, doesn't have to think about whether something will be awkward or uncomfortable. It just is and Harry keeps the surety of it wrapped around him like a blanket. Nick's different, because it's not like coming home. It's like getting on stage, the energy of a crowd feeding into Harry's own until he's jumping around with reckless abandon without a care in the world. He knows everything will be okay by the end of it, but there's always a part of him that worries about what could go wrong.

That part of him worries that it might go wrong when he tells Nick, when he says, "So, I'm a bit in love with Louis, but also you?" because nobody's ever accused Harry of being good at bringing things up to people.

Harry pulls back just far enough that they're not kissing anymore. If it were Nick, he'd try to resume kissing Harry. Louis just waits, while Harry takes a breath. He says, "Do you think Eleanor will be okay with this?"

Louis' brow goes all wrinkled like a pug. "Oh. I should probably talk to her about it." He absently twirls one of Harry's tentacles around his finger. "Not really anything different from before, so I don't think she'll mind."

"She'll be upset we didn't take pictures." Harry's not sure how seriously she had been about that, given that they had all definitely been drunk when she said it, but he remembers her on the other side of Louis. Her saying _I wish you'd text me pictures when you decide to make out_. 

"She will," Louis agrees, his eyes lighting up a bit. He gets that smile on his face, the one that used to make Liam cower in the corner but now just makes him huddle with Louis to conspire in a corner. "Shall we fix that?"

"Someone's going to yell at us," Harry says, which is not a _no_. He know that Eleanor wouldn't do anything untoward with them, but he doesn't know what might happen if she lost her phone or something like that. He's not that concerned with it. "She'll definitely appreciate them, though."

Louis hums, and his fingers walk up Harry's hip. Tentacles follow in their wake like a very strange version of follow the leader. "We could just, you know. Show her."

"You should call her." It's easy to say, because he likes Eleanor and Eleanor's seen him naked anyway (she'd already seen him without pants, Harry can't imagine it was too traumatic). This is not much different from other times they've hung out. He briefly thinks of Nick. "I could call Nick too, I guess."

"If you must," Louis says on a heavy sigh. He grins when Harry punches him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that. Just seems right, doesn't it?"

"It's faster to get all the conversations over at once, don't you think?" The whole situation is a little weird, but Harry thinks that it'll be okay. 

He's got tentacles and his best friend is about to call his also tentacled-girlfriend and he's about to call his boyfriend who comes chocolate so that they can organize what Harry thinks might technically be called a clusterfuck. Weird might be relative.

"Being normal is overrated anyway," Louis says, because he always knows what Harry's thinking. He shifts, sitting up, and Harry almost wants to drag him back down and kiss him again. He doesn't. "And yeah. Might as well get it all over with at once."

Harry's worried Nick might be busy, or, more likely, asleep. He sounds perky enough when he answers the phone, though, teasing Harry about how nobody uses the phone to call people anymore. "There's this new thing called texting. All the rage amongst the young folk," he says.

"You should come over," Harry says, without preamble. He's afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't get it right out. "Louis is inviting Eleanor."

"Like a double date?" Harry can practically hear Nick wrinkling his nose. "I really am dating a teenager, aren't I?"

"Not like a double date, more like an orgy." The words are out of his mouth before he can really think about what he's saying, and Harry kind of wants to swallow them back up. That's not something that's possible, though, so he just waits for Nick to say something instead.

"Um," is what Nick says, which isn't particularly reassuring. "Okay? Except, what? Have I missed something?"

"Probably not an orgy," Harry amends, "but Louis is calling Eleanor because she said she wanted to see us make out." If he could restart this conversation, Harry would. He may actually be the worst at confessions, but at least Nick is pretty used to it. There's also no way the conversation could get any worse, so Harry decides it's probably better to get the being in love with Louis part out of the way too. "I think I'm in love with Louis. And also you."

To Nick's credit, he doesn't immediately hang up. He eventually lets out a sigh, and then a sort of laugh, and then he says, "You're really, really bad at this, aren't you?"

"The worst," Harry says. "You do remember how I asked you out, right?" At the time, he was pretty sure that nothing would ever be worse than that. He thinks this might be reaching that point, though, but it's difficult to rank embarrassment.

"I do. It's very cute, how you flounder." Nick laughs again. "You know how everyone's known about you and Louis for ages? You're the oblivious ones here, love. Don't know how you manage without me."

Flopping backwards onto the bed, Harry groans. "Have I been accidentally dating anyone _else_ I should know about? And why does this keep happening?"

"You're probably dating everyone you meet for more than half a second. You're a bit intense." Harry doesn't know if there's anyone in the world who would react like this when Harry told them he was in love with his best friend. Nick's kind of a dream like that. "Mind, I do love that about you."

"So I'm dating Eleanor then." It's not really a question, because at this point he's beginning to wonder if Eleanor had accepted that dating Louis meant inadvertently dating Harry too. Besides, she's touched his tentacles and Harry's beginning to suspect that everyone that's down with his tentacles is clearly someone he's dating.

"You should probably ask her instead of me, but yes. Yes, you are." Nick clears his throat. "I think anybody who agrees to go out with either of you is aware that they're going out with the other one whether they want to or not."

The subject of Eleanor's tentacles is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say anything about it. It's not really his secret to tell anyway. "Are you coming to watch me make out with Louis or not?"

"Well, it's either that or Nigella," Nick reasons down the line. "And I don't think Nigella's going to be making out with anyone. Apart from maybe a stew."

"Good. I love you." The sentiment is something that he'd express anyway, but it's more important this time. Harry needs Nick to understand that he doesn't love him any less. He just loves Louis too.

Nick's voice softens, like he can't help it. "I know. Don't tell anybody, it'll ruin my rep, but—I love you, too."

"I know," Harry says. "You let me ink all over your face and you barely even held it against me." Nick had complained when they scrubbed it off in the shower, but had mostly let it go after that. It's not necessarily a marker of love in general, because Louis would never let Harry live that down, but Harry knows that it is coming from Nick.

"Yeah, well. Nobody's perfect." Nick laughs, and it sounds a bit incredulous. "Am I really coming over for an orgy with your best friend and his girlfriend?"

"I don't know. Hold on." Harry wanders out to where Louis is talking to Eleanor on the phone in the living room. Settling down next to Louis, Harry asks: "We're not going to have an orgy, are we?"

Louis looks thoughtful. "Probably a bit classier than an orgy. Did you tell Nick we were having an orgy?"

"It may have come out that way," Harry tells Louis. To Nick he says, "Louis says it'll be classier than an orgy."

"Doesn't do anything by halves, does he?" Nick asks. He sounds impressed. "Yeah, I'll be round. If I get there and you're lying to me, Styles, I'll be very cross. I'm missing Nigella for you."

"I'm not. Besides, I'm better than Nigella." He knows this, because Nick told him so on the night that Harry blew him during Nigella because he hadn't been paying enough attention to Harry. "You said so."

"Haven't got sucked off by Nigella yet, have I?" Nick says airily. "I've yet to live the dream. Maybe she gives better head than you."

"I don't think she does," Harry says smugly. He has it on good authority that his blowjobs are among the best. Louis rolls his eyes at Harry and stands up, murmuring something to Eleanor as he wanders away.

Really, Harry's a little surprised this hadn't already happened at some point. He and Louis have known each other for so long that it's weird there's anything left they haven't done together, and he wonders if they've been dancing around this the whole time.

They probably have. It's possible that had been what Zayn meant when he said that everyone couldn't like Harry best, possible that everyone knew this was going to happen except Harry and Louis. This whole things seems like the logical conclusion to their relationship thus far, and it's weird how unweird the whole situation is. Is unweird a word? It doesn't matter if it isn't or not, does it. "—are you listening, Harold?"

"Is unweird a word?" he asks aloud, because, really, if you have to ask someone if they're listening, you already know they aren't. "Or would that just be, like. Normal? But every word should be able to have an opposite. Except words like 'the.' You can't Un-'the' something. Well, you can't 'the' something in the first place."

"I don't think unweird is a word," Nick says. It's not unkind, just patient like Nick usually is when Harry asks him things like this. "And we should probably hang up if you want me to get to yours sometime in the next century."

"Oh, right. Yeah." Harry shakes his head. "I do want that. I'll be dead by the next century, and that won't do either of us any good."

"I'll see you soon." It sounds fond, and Harry smiles. No matter how much he loves Louis, he loves Nick just as fiercely. There's a _click_ as Nick hangs up, and Harry sort of just sits there smiling for a moment. Louis flops down next him, bumping their shoulders together, and Harry turns to look at him. He's still on the phone with Eleanor.

"Nick's on his way," Harry says without any preamble. "And he's missing Nigella for this, so you should pretend to be grateful once he's here. Nigella might give excellent head and he's sacrificing all that to come over." That's almost verbatim what Nick had said. Harry's got a very good memory.

"Harry's just saying something about Nick. I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Louis hangs up, and now that he's got permission from Nick—well, not explicit permission, but he had told Nick that he'd be making out with Louis and Nick had agreed—Harry doesn't feel bad about tugging Louis close and pressing their lips together. Not that he felt particularly bad about kissing Louis before, but he feels even less so now.

Louis hiccups out what sounds like a laugh into Harry's mouth, his hand moving up to curve around the back of Harry's neck, like he's keeping Harry exactly where he wants him. Harry wouldn't have moved, anyway, but he doesn't mind. He likes being kept.

Shifting, Harry deposits himself in Louis' lap so that the angle is better and so they can press together flush. The hand that isn't on the back of Harry's neck settles in the small of his back, under his shirt. It's warm, and Harry sighs against Louis' mouth. They stay like that, only breaking apart to breathe, until there's a knock on their door. For a moment neither of them move, because seriously what is the point of getting the door when you could be kissing, but eventually Louis breaks away. "We should get the door."

"Or," suggests Harry, but he's already moving to let Louis get up even though he'd much rather stay as they were. Chances are it's either Eleanor or Nick at the door and it'd be very rude indeed to invite them over and then just leave them standing outside while he kisses Louis.

Louis gets the door, realizing that Harry isn't going to (never does). It's Nick, which makes sense because Nick lives closer than Eleanor and also didn't have to catch a cab from a party. "Hey," he says, "you're the first one here."

"So I am," Nick replies. "Hello, Louis. You've not got taller, then."

Harry starts smiling, and then forces himself to stop because he will _not_ be one of those people who start smiling when they hear their significant other's voice. He knows he's already one of those people, but it's nice to pretend sometimes.

"Nice to see you too," Louis says dryly. Harry can't stop himself from smiling then, because well. It's hard not to smile when two of the people you like best are both talking. That's just too much feeling all at once, and it's possible you could explode from trying to keep that kind of feeling in. Really, Harry doesn't even want to try it.

"What's this, then?" Nick's voice is much closer when he next speaks, and Harry looks up to find him right in front of Harry and doing a shit job to look stern. The corners of his mouth are twitching with the desire to smile. Harry doesn't want Nick to explode, either.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He's aware of the way his lips are red and swollen from kissing Louis earlier. He knows it looks kind of obscene, and he knows that it's difficult to look away from. Harry feels Louis settle himself on the couch, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulders.

"I've stolen him," Louis says. "He's my tentacled boyfriend now."

"Too bad," responds Nick promptly. "I've got quite used to having a tentacled boyfriend and I'm keeping him, even if I have to share him with someone who listens to The Fray."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Louis says. Nick settles on the other side of Harry, and he turns Harry's face toward him. He kisses Harry like he's proving a point, like he wants to win, and Harry thinks it's more than a little stupid but he indulges Nick anyway. Louis makes an indignant noise, and Nick smiles into the kiss.

Harry tilts his head up when the kiss breaks, biting Nick's earlobe not-quite-playfully. "Don't be mean," he chastises, nuzzling up into his hair because Nick always smells a little like hairspray and home.

Louis tugs on him then, and Harry goes because it's probably better for Nick and Louis to get out their petty claim-staking now rather than later. Besides, he's not that fussed about who's kissing him so long as _someone_ is kissing him. When Louis kisses him it's showy, like the way people kiss in porn when they're playing it up for the cameras, and a little bit like Louis is trying to lick the taste of Nick away. Harry thinks that maybe he should just make Nick and Louis kiss each other if they're just going to use Harry as their go-between.

Actually, that doesn't sound like the worst idea he's ever had. 

(The worst idea he's ever had is sweetcorn flavored soda, according to Louis, though Harry still thinks it'd be pretty great.)

But Louis and Nick kissing, Harry doesn't think that's a bad idea at all. That sounds like a brilliant idea. The best idea, even.

He's about to suggest it when he remembers Eleanor's coming and she'll probably be annoyed with him if he makes Nick and Louis kiss for the first time while she's not there to witness it. She'll get over it, but Harry supposes he should save such a momentous occasion for when they are people who will properly appreciate it watching. Which is a good thought too, because there's another knock on the door and Louis make a frustrated noise into the kiss before pulling away and heading over to the door.

It's Eleanor, of course, and when Louis opens the door, she raises her eyebrow at him. Which, fair because he probably looks like he's been ravished. "I see you've already started," she says, smiling.

Louis only looks guilty for a moment before he catches her in a hug and actually _carries_ her into the flat, while she's giggling and screeching all the way. He plops her down into Harry's lap and then seats himself next to Harry, primly, his nose in the air. 

"Never put off til tomorrow what you can do today," he says. "Good saying, that."

"You should kiss Nick and not put that off," Harry says. His arms are wrapped around Eleanor's waist, keeping her on his lap, and she laughs. Louis tries for a glare and probably falls somewhere between kittens and baby polar bears on the scale of threatening, because Harry just looks at him expectantly.

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" asks Eleanor, squirming around until she can see the both of them. "Right into it, then? Okay. Yes," she says decisively. "Go on, kiss him. I want to see."

There's a moment where Louis looks like he's going to protest, but he doesn't. Instead, he stands and straddles Nick, awkward for a moment before he settles. "This is a terrible idea," Louis says, just before he tilts his head and crushes his lips together with Nick's.

Nick's hands look like they don't know what to do and then they settle on Louis' hips, long fingers curling to brush the swell of his bum, and it looks. It looks as lovely as Harry thought it would look. Louis is all soft curves where Nick is sharp and angular, and they sort of slot together exactly how Harry didn't expect them to.

"No," Eleanor says, "I think it was a really good idea." Nick and Louis kiss like they're trying to kill each other with their lips. They appear to be evenly matched, neither really backing down, and Harry almost misses the expression Eleanor makes. It's the same mischievous look that Louis gets, and Harry wonders whether she picked it up from him or she's always had it. "He likes to be bit," she offers, and Louis makes an offended noise that turns into a moan partway through.

"You're _good_ ," says Harry, impressed. Eleanor laughs again, the jingly, pretty one that reminds Harry of bells, and he kisses the back of her neck just to see if every sound that comes out of her mouth sounds like a musical instrument.

She gasps, a little rush of air that reminds Harry of the way wind whispers through chimes and makes Louis glance over. He seems like he's going to pull away and say something, but Nick must bite him again, because his eyes flutter shut and really, if Harry had known about _that_ he would have been exploiting it mercilessly for ages. That's probably why Louis didn't tell him, in all honesty.

Eleanor's very little, and she feels fragile in Harry's arms even if he knows that logically she isn't. She's one of the strongest people he knows. His arms tighten around her and he pulls her close, resting his cheek against her back, between her shoulder blades. She always smells nice, too. It makes Harry smile.

"So," Nick says, which means that he's apparently relinquished control over Louis' mouth, "are you and the pretty lady on your lap going to give us a show then?" 

"I suppose that would be fair," Eleanor says. Eleanor's fingers close around Harry's arm, gently tugging it away so she can sit down next to him. Tugging on Harry again, she arranges him on her lap before curling her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down to press their lips together. It takes a moment to get used to it, to get used to Eleanor, but then she licks into his mouth and okay. Harry is definitely okay with this.

He hasn't really kissed a girl since Caroline, he thinks, and that was ages ago. There's no stubble and there's no bulge pressing against his thigh, but there are boobs and Eleanor's hair is tickling his arm, and he likes this a lot. It's familiar but it also isn't, because it's Eleanor. It's Eleanor, and he's never kissed Eleanor like this. He might do it more often now, though. Will do it more often.

"You should pull her hair," Louis says, purposefully nonchalant. Eleanor makes an offended noise Harry assumes is directed toward Louis and not him, and he almost doesn't do it. If he doesn't though, he knows that Louis will do it for him and he's rather Louis not get involved in this kiss. His hand curves around the back of Eleanor's head, her hair smooth against his fingers as he grips it. 

The first tug is gentle, because as much as he trusts Louis he doesn't know Eleanor nearly so well, and Eleanor whimpers into the kiss, arching up against him. He tries tugging a little harder, and Eleanor _moans_. The fingers on the back of his neck tighten, and yes. Hair pulling is definitely a Thing for her.

He likes knowing what people's Things are. It's almost always useful to know, even if you don't plan on fucking them. He knows Zayn's and Liam's and Niall's as well, and now he knows Nick's and Louis' and El's and he's very pleased with all this knowledge he's amassed. It means he can get a good grip in Eleanor's hair and pull hard enough that her head jerks back a little, and he's starting to learn the noises she makes, or swallows back in her throat.

"Scratch him," Nick says, having obviously decided that Harry's kindness in not giving up _his_ secrets isn't worth not giving up Harry's. "Down his back, along his spine." The hand Eleanor had resting on his hip travels upward, slipping under his shirt. Her fingernails rake down his spine, and Harry can't help pressing into the touch awkwardly.

"Cheater," he huffs, his face pressing against Eleanor's neck. While he's there, he figures he might as well kiss it a little. It's not Eleanor's fault Harry's boyfriend is a very mean person.

"You don't care," Nick says, which is true. It's still cheating, though. Eleanor shivers against Harry, who's decided to spend his time sucking a mark onto her skin. Marks on Eleanor don't matter as much as they do on him or Louis, so he can leave one high on her neck where it's impossible to cover.

He guesses it's probably sort of possessive, because really he belongs to Eleanor as much as he belongs to Nick or to Louis. Eleanor's the only other person who really gets what it's like to be him, the only person who can ever understand what it's like to be tentacled. They've belonged to each other since the day they met, really, in a lot of the ways that matter. Because sometimes Harry thinks, before she met Harry, Eleanor thought she was a monster. And before Harry met her, he thought he was alone.

Eleanor's fingers dig into his skin, fingernails biting in and trying to break, and Harry wonders if maybe she's trying to make him hers too. He tugs on her hair again, just to feel her press against him. "This is decidedly less PG-13 than our kiss," Louis says.

"I wonder if they'll just crawl inside each other's mouths if we watch long enough," Nick muses. Very funny. They're very funny people, but Harry will laugh at their very funny jokes when he's not busy appreciating how very wonderful kissing Eleanor is.

"I don't think so," Louis says. "I think it's some kind of Tentaworld bonding ritual. Eleanor's got tentacles too, by the way. We meant to bring it up earlier, but you were a bit busy conquering my mouth."

"I'm the king of your mouth, now. Does she really?" Nick sounds mostly unsurprised. "You've got a type, haven't you, Tomlinson?"

"Eleanor," Louis says, which makes Eleanor pull away from the kiss. Harry doesn't even care that he whines. He'd rather really good kissing not be interrupted, thank you very much. "You wanna show Nick your tentacles?"

"Little busy," Eleanor replies. Harry tugs on her hair to get her to pay attention to him again, and she gasps. " _Fuck_ ," she says, a little out of breath, "you're a cheater too, Harry."

"I learned from the best," says Harry. You can't spend as much time with Louis and Nick as he does and not have it rub off at all. "Come back, I want more kissing."

"We could be _naked_ and kissing," Eleanor reasons. She doesn't seem to be very sold on the idea, though, and Harry doesn't really want to move away so she can get undressed.

He's naked all the time anyway. He can be not-naked for a few more minutes, if it means he gets more kissing. He likes kissing even more than he likes being naked, which is certainly saying something.

"Harry." Nick says it firmly, and Harry glances over because he generally doesn't ignore Nick when he sounds like that. Nick makes a motion for Harry to come over to him and Harry sighs before switching places with Louis. Nick kisses him, soft like an apology, and Harry allows it.

It's not like he minds kissing Nick. He loves kissing Nick, which is why he does it so much. Kissing Eleanor is new, and exciting, but kissing Nick is like settling back into your bed after you've just had a really good day.

To the side, Harry can hear Eleanor's hushed _Louis_ and the rustle of clothing being removed. Nick's fingers deftly undo the button on Harry's jeans, and then his fingers are stroking over Harry's tentacles and really, they're all playing dirty at this point. 

His tentacles are happy to be free, twining around Nick's fingers and up his wrist, and Harry lets out a harsh sigh, relaxing. He hadn't realized he could get any more relaxed than he was, but he thinks he might just melt against Nick now into a puddle.

"As pretty as this all is," Eleanor says, with the air of someone who's too used to dealing with idiots, "I was lured here with the promise of Harry and Lou kissing." Nick breaks away from Harry, who's really just over everyone interrupting his kissing, and laughs. Harry turns to pout at Eleanor, but she's naked and it's a little difficult to be mad at her when, well. She's naked and gorgeous.

She's a little bit flushed but Harry doesn't know if it's because of what Louis' been doing or because there are more eyes on her than there usually are when she's naked. Either way, she's beautiful. Her tentacles are curling at the edges of her thighs like they're shy. Harry wants to wrap her up and never let her go.

"I don't know if this is any classier than an orgy," Nick says, thoughtful. His fingers are still stroking over Harry's tentacles, which seem interested by Eleanor's. Harry tries to shift away to go back to what he had been doing previously, but Nick stops him. "You should kiss Louis, and maybe get naked."

Harry sighs. He guesses he can do that. It's easy enough to slide back off of Nick's lap and shove his jeans down the rest of the way, and pull his shirt off. His tentacles wriggle with joy, and he can tell they're pleased to have Eleanor's company again.

Louis is already naked—which is neither new or particular unfamiliar, given the amount of times they've cuddled naked since meeting each other—and Harry drops himself into Louis' lap unapologetically. "I can't imagine why they would want us to kiss," Harry says. "Kissing you is boring."

"You can't deny we look good together," Louis says, laughing. "Come here." Curling a hand around the back of Harry's neck, Louis pulls him closer and presses their lips together. 

" _Oh_ ," Harry hears from Eleanor, soft and surprised. Considering she and Nick have been asking for this since they arrived, he can't imagine how surprising it could possibly be. Kissing Louis feels like it shouldn't be anything special to watch, but maybe that's because it doesn't feel like anything new, not like kissing Eleanor had been, or the first few times he'd kissed Nick.

Kissing Louis feels like something he's done a million times, and he thinks he probably has, in dreams or half-formed thoughts or hidden away ideas. He's probably kissed Louis more often than he's kissed anyone else, if kisses count when they only happen in your head.

He sinks his teeth into Louis' lower lip, because he can and because it makes Louis pull him closer. There's nothing that special about the kiss otherwise—it isn't showy, like the one earlier, because it's settled and comfortable. Harry's tentacles have forgotten about Eleanor entirely, because why would they care when they have Louis? They've always liked him best, which Harry suspects is another indicator of the inevitability of the situation.

"That's good," mumbles Nick. Harry thinks that must be his hand on Harry's back, warm and bigger than Eleanor's would be. It's reassuring, and in response Harry deepens the kiss. If Nick's encouraging him to kiss Louis, then he's going to damn well _kiss_ Louis.

Someone shifts closer, and it must be Eleanor, because she's whispering to Louis. He can hear her, even though he's sure that he's not meant to, and _fuck_ They're keeping Eleanor forever if she talks like this every time she's in bed. "Come on, Louis," she says, low and sultry. "I know you can imagine it. Harry, on his knees, lips around your cock. He'd be good at it, wouldn't you?"

"Oh," Nick says, and maybe he _is_ meant to hear this, "Harry's quite good at being on his knees."

"When I'm being rewarded with chocolate," Harry remarks, mumbled against Louis' mouth. He doesn't like not kissing Louis, though, so he reconnects their lips and squirms closer so that his tentacles can explore Louis' bare stomach, slide over warm skin and the trail of wispy hairs leading down underneath his navel.

"I doubt Louis comes chocolate too," Nick says. "Tragic, I know, but I think you should still suck him off. Otherwise I'll have to do it, and I don't think he'll enjoy that nearly as much, somehow."

Harry's about to say something when Eleanor beats him to it. "Wait. You come _chocolate_? That is so unfair."

Nick looks rather smug. Harry thinks he's entitled; as far as Harry knows, Nick's the only person in the world who comes sweet goodness. Harry eats an awful lot of citrus, but he's fully aware his spunk doesn't taste like pineapple.

"Louis comes vanilla pudding," Eleanor continues, which. _What_? She doesn't seem particularly concerned with the bombshell she's just dropped, sighing. "I don't even _like_ vanilla pudding. It's gross."

"You've never told me that," Harry says loudly, glaring at Louis. "You're supposed to tell me _everything_. Vanilla pudding? Really? You and Nick could've bonded, and like. Made delicious treats together."

"I didn't _know_ until El tried swallowing the other day, okay?" Louis sounds kind of hysterical, and Harry tries to stay mad at him, but it's really hard. "Like, I'd never _tasted_ it."

"Really?" Nick sounds surprised. "Well, I guess if it's not a different color, you wouldn't think to. Still, you weren't ever curious at all?"

"When I got curious, I blew some guy in the bathroom of a club and it was not an experience I felt like repeating." Louis winces even just talking about it, and Harry vaguely remembers the story. It hadn't been a good experience all-around if he remembers correctly, and he doesn't really blame Louis for not wanting to repeat it. _Still_.

"Don't you think 'hey, guess what! I come vanilla pudding!' is something you're supposed to tell your best friend when it happens?" Harry punches Louis in the shoulder, lightly, and Louis wrinkles his nose. 

"Alright, alright," he grumbles. "I should've told you. And now I am: I apparently come vanilla pudding. Satisfied?"

"Not until I _taste_ it," Harry says. He scrambles off the couch, settling between Louis' knees and trying to tug him forward so that he can give him a proper blowjob. Louis obliges, scooting forward until he's barely sitting on the couch. For a moment Harry just sizes Louis' dick up, because he'd rather not choke on it, and then he looks up at Louis. Louis settles his fingers in Harry's hair, and Harry grins at him before carefully taking Louis into his mouth.

He tastes like dick, mostly, but there's something underneath it, something sweet and, well. Vanilla. It tastes like a, like a dick flavored ice lolly with vanilla cream in the middle. It's a bit odd, but Harry's been blowing someone who comes chocolate for the past month or so, and he's desensitized.

"Are you sure that you've never done this before?" Eleanor doesn't sound offended, but Harry looks up at her anyway. She blushes and shakes her head. "I didn't mean it like that! It's just. You look really good, that's all."

"You do," Nick says from his other side, fingertips touching Harry's shoulder. "She's right, it does look like it's something you're used to, a bit."

"I think I would remember if this had happened before," Louis says, a little strained. Harry pulls off, licking over the head as he goes, and Louis groans.

"It's my face," Harry explains, fingers curling around Louis' dick and jacking him off. He doesn't elaborate much more than that. It's pretty much the entire explanation anyway, although he supposes he could add on that he has it on good authority his face just looks like it should be giving oral all the time. He goes back to sucking Louis' dick instead.

Everyone seems to appreciate that decision, because Louis' fingers tighten in his hair and Nick scoots closer next to them, and this breathy sound like nothing Harry's ever heard punches out of Eleanor. He wants to find out, eventually, what else he can do to make her sound like that.

"You can take him down farther," Nick says. His fingers trace down Harry's face, and Harry considers for a moment before deciding that fine, he can show off a little. His control over his gag reflex is hard-won and there's really no point to it if he never uses it, is there? Louis swears, fingers on just the wrong side of painful in Harry's hair, and Harry can hear Eleanor whispering something to Louis.

He figures it can't be something too bad, because that wouldn't make any sense. Eleanor wouldn't be telling Louis to, like, pour cold water down Harry's back in the middle of sex. Basically, it's got to be something good. And sexy. Good and sexy.

"You should kiss Louis," Eleanor says, and Harry assumes she's talking to Nick because he's a little preoccupied. Nick moves his fingers away from Harry's face, and Harry looks up to see that Nick's complied with Eleanor's orders. He doesn't see Eleanor though, which is why he startles when he feels hands settling on his ribs, "Shhhh," Eleanor says, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry's neck. "Don't choke."

Don't choke. Okay. Harry can do that. He mastered the art of 'not choking on dick' a long time ago, and it's something he generally tries to do anyway. He didn't really need the instruction, but it's good to know Eleanor's looking out for him.

Eleanor's hands move, one settling over his heart and the other trailing down his chest. She wraps her fingers around one of his tentacles, and Harry almost does choke because her hands are smaller, her fingers thinner, and it feels nothing like Nick or Louis. Eleanor's had her hands on his tentacles before, but never like this. This is her, slowly stroking him as her teeth graze along the back of his neck, and okay. He was _not_ aware that Eleanor was this dirty.

It's mindblowing, how different a different hand can feel. Nick has long fingers and big palms and he can get almost all of Harry's tentacles in one hand, and when Louis plays with his tentacles, he uses both hands and doesn't stroke them as much as he pets them. Eleanor is very deliberately stroking, and her fingers are so slim. His tentacles wind through them like she's some sort of tentacle weaver.

"If you ink on the couch," Louis gasps out. He doesn't finish the sentence, partially because Harry shuts him up by licking over the head of his cock and partially because Eleanor cuts him off.

"He won't." Eleanor smiles against his neck. "Will you?"

"No," whispers Harry, a shiver rolling down the length of his spine. They should've done this together ages ago. Eleanor's amazing. "No, I won't. Promise."

"Good boy," Eleanor whispers. She bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Harry moans. He doesn't even care if she leaves a mark he has to explain away, because _fuck_ everything she's doing is perfect.

Nick chuckles. "I see your girl has discovered what makes Harry tick. Such a good boy, aren't you?"

Harry thinks maybe he should work on not being so easy to figure out, but then he wouldn't be nearly as pleased with his life at the moment. He can feel a whimper building in his throat and swallows it back, instead carefully nodding and opening his mouth to suck Louis down again.

Louis runs his fingers through Harry's hair, and Harry hums in approval. It draw a noise out of Louis that Harry likes, so he does it again. It's possible that he's fueled by the promise of vanilla pudding, but mostly he just wants to make this good for Louis.

The vanilla pudding is just a bonus. A delicious bonus, but not his main objective. His main objective is to make Louis feel as good as he can, and maybe get somebody to touch his tentacles a little. That'd be nice.

Likes she's read his mind, Eleanor strokes his tentacles. Harry can feel hers brushing against his back gently, and he thinks that someone should take care of her after this. He thinks that Eleanor deserves that, deserves everything in the world. Louis' fingers tighten in Harry's hair, and Harry wonders if that's a sign Louis is close or a sign that Harry's not paying enough attention. Either way, Harry focuses back on what he's doing. 

The sweet taste on his tongue is stronger now, and it makes Harry even more eager to get to the end. Not because he isn't having fun, but because there's part of him that wants proof, even though he knows Louis wouldn't ever lie to him. He still wants to taste it.

"Stop holding back, Louis." Eleanor doesn't sound angry with him, more exasperated, and Harry would think more about the fact that Eleanor can read Louis this well except he's a little preoccupied. "Harry's been waiting."

Louis sort of grunts, and his fingers tighten in Harry's hair to the point that it hurts, just a little, at the base of his neck. Harry doesn't try to dislodge him because he's hopeful that it means what he thinks it does.

He pulls back enough that he's not likely to choke and things are likely to get a little messy. It's possible that Harry has a Thing for people licking bodily fluids off his face, but nobody's complained to him so far. Licking over the head, Harry can taste the sweetness with a hint of vanilla and then it's filling his mouth and yup. That is _definitely_ vanilla pudding.

Now that he's certain, he can stop pretending and lean away to let the rest spill thick onto his lips and smear over his cheek. He keeps it away from his eyes because blindness isn't in his plans for this evening, but other than that, he feels well and truly vanilla-puddinged, if indeed there can be such a thing.

Nick bends down, licking a smear of it off his cheek. "That's definitely vanilla pudding," he says, a little surprised. He seems to get over it quickly, though, balancing precariously to lick the rest of it off Harry's face. Harry lets him, because that's exactly what he wanted to happen, and he barely even notices the way Eleanor's stopped moving.

"Ugh," Eleanor says, "That's gross. _You're_ gross."

Harry makes a disgruntled noise because it's entirely Eleanor's fault he's got vanilla pudding on his face at all. She's the one who wanted to see this, and now they've given her what she wanted and she's calling it gross. Harry feels distinctly wronged.

"It's _vanilla pudding_ ," Eleanor says, when Louis starts laughing at her. She says it like it explains everything, which it really doesn't because vanilla pudding is pretty great. "There is no way for that to not be gross."

"There's every way for it not to be gross," Harry protests. "Most ways, actually. Because vanilla pudding is delicious."

"No," Eleanor huffs. "It's _gross_." Louis is still laughing, and Harry thinks that he's probably had this exact conversation with Eleanor before. "It's all. . . globby and weird and vanilla-y."

"Tastes alright," says Nick, licking his lips. He swipes a knuckle over a spot on Harry's cheek he must've missed and sucks it off. "Very tasty, actually. This wouldn't be bad in a trifle or the like."

"She really hates vanilla pudding," Louis says, still laughing a little. He must see something on Eleanor's face, because Louis motions for her to come closer and she goes. Her arms are crossed and she looks a little annoyed when she sits on the couch. Louis doesn't seem phased by this, though, just smoothing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Something in Eleanor relaxes then, and she sighs.

"You can eat all the vanilla pudding you want," Eleanor says, waving a hand dismissively, "but I maintain that it's gross."

"Okay," Harry allows. He shuffles forward on his knees until he can kiss her thigh, setting his head there and looking up at her in the hope that it'll make the last of the frown leave her face. "You can maintain whatever you want."

Eleanor smiles, just a little. She ruffles Harry's hair. "I'd kiss you, but you probably taste like it still. Nick," she says, "kiss Harry for me."

"Bossy, aren't you?" Nick laughs, motioning for Harry to come over. Harry stands, because his knees are kind of starting to protest, and settles onto Nick's lap. Nick kisses him, licking into his mouth, and Harry sighs into it. 

He's glad Nick doesn't mind vanilla pudding, because honestly, he missed kissing. He likes blowing people, and he's really very good at it, but there's nothing like a good kiss to get you going, he thinks. And Nick's one of his favorite people to kiss.

The way Nick is kissing Harry makes him think that he's trying to chase the taste of vanilla pudding away so Eleanor won't mind, which is rather nice of him. He wonders if Nick understands that making Eleanor happy should be everyone's goal in life, understands even without being told that Eleanor's not really as confident as she looks.

Nick's good at things like that, at knowing without being told. Harry thinks it's part of what makes him such a good friend, and such a good interviewer, because he knows things about people that they'd never dream of telling him. He knows so much about Harry, and Harry's only told him about half of it. That's scary sometimes, to think about, but mostly it's just reassuring that he doesn't have to talk to Nick about every little thing. Sometimes Nick just knows.

Harry's so caught up in kissing Nick that he's sort of forgotten that Louis and Eleanor are there too until he hears Eleanor shriek _Louis, stop!_ and pulls away from Nick just enough to look at them. Louis is bent over Eleanor, pressing her onto the couch and worrying the spot on her neck that Harry left earlier. Eleanor's struggling against Louis, but she's not actually trying to break free, and Harry gets the sense that this is something they do all the time, that it's understood Eleanor doesn't actually want Louis to stop at all.

It's cute. They've always been cute together, ever since Harry's known them and watched them together, he's always known they were cute. But like this, with this undercurrent of sexuality that they're all feeling, it's something more. It's like, like electricity sparking under Harry's skin. He wonders what it feels like to them, when Eleanor's actually feeling Louis' hands on her, and if it feels the same as when Louis' hands are on him. He wonders what her tentacles are doing.

"You want that to be you." Nick doesn't phrase it like a question. Harry shakes his head, because that's not it, not exactly. He wants to be Eleanor in the sense that he wants to know how she feels. He doesn't want to be Eleanor in the way that Nick is most likely implying. "Ah. You want her to tell you what it's like, then."

And that, that sounds much closer to what Harry wants. He couldn't put it into words because words have never been something he's good at, but of course Nick—bright, sharp, clever Nick—can take what Harry's feeling and mold it into something intelligible.

"It feels like I could explode," Eleanor says, maybe a little breathy. "It's, I. I don't have the words for it." Louis must bite down particular hard or something to that effect, because Eleanor gives a sharp _ah!_ and presses up against Louis. He pulls away, triumphant, and Eleanor's got a sprawling mark approximately the size of an elephant on her neck now. Harry fixates on it, and Nick chuckles.

"Wish you could have one of those, do you? Pity that we'll have to be a bit more creative about where we put it." The tips of Nick's fingers trace an aimless pattern over Harry's chest and settle on his shoulder. "We could put it. here."

"I like there," agrees Harry. If he's being honest, he doesn't care where as long as Nick can give him a mark _somewhere_. Proof of ownership, proof that he's Nick's because he knows he's indelibly marked by Louis, and, and Eleanor can give him a mark too, if she wants—but what Harry wants right now is for Nick to bite him and claim him and possess him even if he can't show that to the world quite yet.

For a moment, Nick hovers over the spot his fingertips touched. He presses a kiss to it, soft and sweet, before biting down. Harry jerks, whining. He can see the way Eleanor is watching him. Her eyes are dark, wanting, and he hopes she'll want to give him a mark too. Nick's worrying his spot, and Harry tries to stay still as best he can while he's doing it. There's a difference between pain and _pain_ , and the sort of thing that happens when you rip skin you were intending to bruise is not what Harry wants.

Nick's always been good at giving Harry what he wants, what he _needs_ , without Harry ever asking. He knows what makes Harry shiver, what makes him tremble, what makes him whimper and beg for more. Nick is good at getting Harry off. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say it's Nick's purpose in life.

Harry knows that it's not Nick's purpose, because Nick's purpose is music and radio and all those things, but he thinks it might be Nick's purpose in the same way that Louis' purpose is making Harry feel better. Like, it's not really a purpose, but a thing they do and consider their job. A duty, maybe. Yeah, that.

Whatever it is, Nick's damn good at it, and Harry's nearly melting into him by the time Nick's apparently satisfied with the mark he's made. Harry's satisfied with it as well even though he can't see it. It aches in a wonderful way, throbbing along with Harry's heartbeat in his ears and it feels gigantic.

"You are going to get in so much shit for that if you don't keep it covered," Louis says, reaching out to touch his fingers to it. It stings, and Harry jerks into the touch like he's been pulled.

"I can keep it covered." Harry doesn't know if he's going to, because he thinks he can handle the fallout if he doesn't and he wants it on display. He'll try. Probably. It's not his fault if he forgets to wear a shirt that doesn't slip down.

"I want to leave one." Eleanor comes closer, elbowing at Louis until he moves out of the way. She doesn't actually wait for him to say yes, just runs her fingers over her chest like she's searching for the perfect spot. 

"You should leave it on this thighs somewhere," Louis suggests. Eleanor's fingers pause in their search, and then she smiles. Harry knows that smile, and it should scare him more than it actually does.

He really just finds it intriguing, and he can feel anticipation curling up his spine. He spreads his legs a little, hopefully, maybe, and bites his lip as he looks at her through his eyelashes.

Eleanor brushes her fingers along the crease where his legs and pelvis join, and Harry shivers. "If I left it here," she says, conversational, "you'd feel it when you walk."

"Please," Harry whispers. Eleanor laughs, like wind through chimes, and squeezes Harry's thigh. She doesn't make a move to mark him, though, and Harry almost whines before Eleanor speaks again.

"We should head to the bedroom," Eleanor tells him, petting his hip almost apologetically. "This will be easier if you lay down."

Harry doesn't _want_ to move to the bedroom, except he does and he knows it. Eleanor's right, this'll be easier for all of them if they can spread out a bit more and sofas are terrible for sex anyway. If he has to lie down to get Eleanor to mark him, then he's damn well willing to move to the bedroom so she can do it best.

The walk to the bedroom seems unbearably long, but they all end up on the bed. Harry's head is cradled in Nick's lap and he's laying down, Eleanor between his legs and Louis off to the side. Eleanor's dipped her head to work on the sensitive skin of the spot she's chosen, and Harry tries not to twist away from it. Louis straddles his chest after a couple aborted motions, using his hands to hold Harry's hips down, and Harry's sad for the loss of view but thankful he doesn't have to think as much about his movements now.

It's easier to let himself fall into the feelings when he can't see what's happening. He can just feel Eleanor's mouth with her teeth sharp and knowing, in just the right places to make Harry squirm helplessly. He's always been shit at not showing his reactions during sex and today's no different.

His tentacles are toying with Eleanor's hair, occasionally tugging on it, and eventually Eleanor pauses. "Do something about his tentacles," she tells Louis, voice sounding a little strained. Louis laughs, shifting around slightly to dip his head down and take one of Harry's tentacles into his mouth.

It's all at once too much and not nearly enough, like an electric shock up Harry's whole body. He can feel it in his toes and in his soul and if there was a pill on the market that could keep this feeling forever, he'd buy a lifetime supply.

Harry can't tell exactly what his tentacles are doing, but he knows that they abandon Eleanor's hair in favor of exploring Louis' face. It's not like they're all that unfamiliar with it, but suddenly they have new territory to explore, and Harry can definitely tell when Louis takes two and then three tentacles into his mouth. It's different from Nick, different from the kind of touch Louis usually gives them, and Harry whines. He can't articulate what he wants (for Eleanor and Louis to never ever ever _ever_ stop), and he looks up at Nick for guidance.

Nick looks down at him, fingers curling around Harry's cheek. He slips two fingers into Harry's mouth, and Harry sucks on them without any finesse at all. "Shhh," Nick says. "We'll take care of you. We'll take care of our good boy."

Harry's not used to getting exactly what he needs. He's not left wanting in any sense of the word, always happy, always content, but this is like a whole new level. This is getting things he wants and things he needs and things he never even knew he needed, all packed together in a ball that's just been opened all at once so that the good things can escape. It's good and better and best all at the same time. It's the best he's ever felt.

Usually it takes a lot for Harry to be anywhere near close to inking and it's not always a sure thing, but he's felt on edge almost the entire time and he doesn't actually know how much longer he can hold out. "You can come whenever," Eleanor says absently, and Harry moans around Nick's fingers.

Louis continues working Harry's tentacles, and Eleanor seems to be satisfied with her handiwork enough to abandon it in favor of helping Louis out. Her fingers curl around some of the smaller tentacles, and it's actually too much for Harry to handle. He strains against the weight of Louis' hands and probably makes a mess of everyone involved.

He doesn't remember if he's told Eleanor that he inks, if it's ever come up in casual conversation. It's liable to have, but he also doesn't remember it, but he also doesn't remember anything at all at the moment. He's probably getting ink _everywhere_ , all over the sheets and all over them and he doesn't know what sort of distances he can reach but he's also a bit frightened to open his eyes and find out.

Eleanor's giggling, though, which Harry takes to mean that nothing absolutely terrible has happened. He cracks open his eyes to see Eleanor and Louis kissing. He can't see much more than that, but he can see splatters of ink going up Louis arms. Pulling away from Louis, Eleanor licks her lips. "Not as good as chocolate," she declares, "but definitely above vanilla pudding. It tastes like ocean."

"Sorry," Harry manages weakly after a moment. "Forgot . . . Sorry," he concludes. It's not that he forgot that he inks, it's that he forgot pretty much everything that's ever been in his head.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Eleanor nudges at Louis, who settles to the side off of Harry. He's semi-splattered in ink, but he doesn't seem particularly concerned about it. It's possible that they're all far, far too used to weird situations arising from genitalia and nothing actually freaks them out at this point. Harry wouldn't know; he's still having trouble putting coherent thoughts together, nevermind sentences with words.

Eleanor makes a murmuring sound, stroking his hair back from his face. It's nice, and her fingers are cool where his face is so very warm, and she's just so very lovely all the time. Harry just loves her so very much.

Eleanor's leaning in to kiss him when Nick coughs pointedly. "You can wait," Eleanor says, just before pressing her lips to Harry's. She still tastes a little like him, far removed like an old memory, and Harry's fingers ghost up her ribcage until he can cup her breasts. It's something he's missed about girls, and it's worth it for the way Eleanor sighs against him.

It's something he hadn't really thought about missing, breasts. Nick's got a lot of things and Harry loves all of them, but he hasn't got breasts, that Harry can fit his palms over and play with. Men's nipples just aren't the same as a really good pair of breasts.

Someone's hands sneak around his waist, tugging him away from Eleanor, and Harry makes a sad noise. "I was busy," he says, turning to find Nick. He tries to sound annoyed, but ends up somewhere near whiny. 

"I'm sure you were." Nick looks indulgent, maybe. Certainly not cowed by Harry's indigence, as he should be. Harry's just inked everywhere, he thinks he deserves a bit of quality boob time. Nick kisses him, though, so he obviously doesn't think so.

"I was going to give him back after I was done." Eleanor doesn't look that upset by this turn of events, but it's hard to tell with her occasionally. Nick gives a noncommittal hum, not bothering to pause his kiss with Harry. 

Harry shouldn't like that, how casually possessive of him Nick is. He thinks he should probably be a bit less turned on by it, especially considering how recently he inked. He doesn't feel like he could go again, especially, but it's a tingle low in his stomach all the same.

"Sorry," Eleanor says as she tugs Harry away from Nick, "stealing him again. You can have Louis." Harry makes an unhappy noise at being dislodged from Nick, but the he's got Eleanor pressed against him and that's okay too. Louis has moved between Nick and Harry, effectively keeping Nick from stealing Harry back, and Nick sighs.

"Bit rude to team up on me like that." It's likely that there's more to what Nick's going to say, but but Louis wraps his fingers around Nick's cock, jerking him off slowly, and Nick gives up whatever he was going to say. He yanks Louis closer, smashing their lips together, and there's a tug-of-war for dominance before Louis relinquishes it.

"Hot," says Harry vaguely. He trusts Eleanor will know what he means. Watching Louis and Nick together is a really good sight to be able to take in, and not just because they're both stupidly pretty. They have chemistry whether they'd admit it or not, and it's obvious when they kiss.

"Very," Eleanor murmurs. Harry would watch Louis and Nick, who are kissing like they're going to war, but Eleanor is warm against him and there's only so much he can pay attention to at once. He dips his head to suck on one of her nipples, reveling in the way she arches into it.

It really is a joy to be near a girl-nipple again. Harry's fingers trace down Eleanor's ribs and over her sides, lightly enough that she giggles a little but it's breathless and eager, and Harry wants more of it. So far his theory is sound, that all of her noises sound like music, and Harry has never been so pleased to be right.

He slides his hand across her hip, and her tentacles greet his fingers happily. Harry's still so fascinated by the subtle differences between hers and his, the way they react to stimuli and the shape of them and everything, really.

She's not as comfortable with them, so Harry tries not to startle her. He lets her tentacles skim over his hands for a moment before he wraps his fingers around her She gasps, small and barely there at all, and Harry wants to burn it into his memory forever. He kisses her, simple and uncomplicated, and she wraps her arms around his neck to tug him closer.

There's no fighting, like there is with Nick and Louis. It's all easy and smooth, and Harry thinks there's no way it could've been anything else. They've always worked together so well that it just makes sense that they even work well together in this, with Harry's fingers slowly stroking Eleanor's tentacles and the quiet enjoyment of a really good kiss.

Nick and Louis are still bickering, trading off between making cracks at each other and kissing fiercely, but it doesn't much matter. Nothing outside of the very small bubble that is Eleanor&Harry matters, because in their insular world they are the status quo. There's nothing weird about the fact that they have tentacles, because they both do and it's nice to have someone you don't need to explain yourself to. Someone who gets it, even if your experiences aren't the same.

Harry knows Nick tries, and he's sure that Louis tries for Eleanor, too, but it's just not the same as being able to touch someone else's tentacles, to be able to know that they're there and you're not the only person like you in the world. He thinks Eleanor must feel the same. They're not alone on the bed, but in that moment, they sort of are.

Eleanor's panting against him, twisting against the sheets, and Harry doesn't care about anything else. He wants to make Eleanor ink (or come, whichever it is, he doesn't quite remember); he wants her to have everything she's given him and more. "Harry," she says, quiet like the whisper of a background vocal, and it means so much. Harry quiets her, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she whimpers.

There's a possibility she doesn't ink. Harry's curious about that. Maybe all tentacles are not created equal, maybe that's a thing. Maybe Eleanor just orgasms, and she'll shake apart and Harry can feel her quake against him. He wouldn't be opposed to that. He also wouldn't be opposed to her inking on him, though. To be honest, he'd deserve it for inking on her in the first place.

He gets the sense that Eleanor is close to something, because bodies are bodies and no matter how strange your genitalia, there's a certain way that the moments approaching orgasm look. Harry's been around enough people to know what it looks like, to know the desperate way that Eleanor clings to him. He smooths a hand over her hair, debating for a moment before he does pull on it. Eleanor cries out, and Harry thinks that even that, raspy and a little broken, sounds like music he never wants to stop.

She's gorgeous, and Harry's always known that but it seems important to acknowledge especially now when she's so vulnerable and small in his arms, when he can feel her bones against his and her skin against his and her everything against his.

"She inks purple," Louis says, from somewhere far away, and it takes Harry a moment to resurface from the insular little world they've been in. It takes another moment for what Louis has said to sink in. Eleanor's blushing, her face turned away, and Harry wants to tell her that no, it wouldn't matter if she came rainbows because he'd still love her.

It wouldn't matter if she came fucking _tacos_ , honestly. She could come razorblades and he'd still think the fucking world of her. He wants to tell her that, out loud, but he hopes she already knows. He hopes she'll never forget that.

"Sounds awesome," he tells Louis absently. Turning Eleanor's face back toward him, Harry kisses her and tries to wrap her up in acceptance. _You don't need to be a monster anymore_ , he tries to say, _because you never were one._

His tentacles lazily tuck up through hers, weaving into and around them and mixing up with hers even while Harry continues to stroke them. He bets her ink is the most beautiful purple in the world. The most beautiful purple anyone's ever seen.

It's probably the color that royalty used to wear, the kind of painstaking purple obtained by harvesting millions of tiny little snails and crushing them. And it probably looks really, really good on her. He wants to see it, so he tugs on her hair again and kisses her like there's no need for air. Eleanor jerks against him with a little _a-ah!_ and then everything is a brilliant shade of purple. It's the best thing Harry's ever seen (even if the sheets are now ruined forever from the combination of them), and Harry brings his hand up to his mouth to lick her off it. It's different than his own ink, sweeter somehow, and Harry thinks that he would definitely lick it off of her for every day of the rest of forever.

Forever can start today, actually. Harry ducks his head to lick her collarbone, and down her chest, his lips catching on the curve of her breast. She's still shuddering faintly and Harry wants to see how long he can keep that happening.

Somewhere around her bellybutton, Harry wonders if Eleanor could go again, since she's a girl. Not that all girls can do the multiple orgasm thing, but there are girls that can and Harry wonders if he could just lie in bed with Eleanor all day, pulling shuddery gasps and purple ink from her. He think that since she inks, it's probably likely that she can't but it's a nice thought that he keeps in mind while he's cleaning her tentacles. She hisses, and Harry pulls away, concerned.

"Don't stop," Eleanor says, fingers threading through Harry's hair. "Please, I. Just don't stop."

Well, if she doesn't want him to stop, he has no reason to. Maybe she can go again, and if she can and he doesn't investigate the possibility, what does that say about him? It says he's very, very stupid. That's what it says.

Harry stays where he is and continues to clean her tentacles, slowly and carefully. They're curling against his face and it feels really weird. He's tried to suck his own tentacles before and it didn't work and he nearly broke his back. He likes Eleanor's. They feel good on his tongue.

Nick swears, and Harry glances over to see Louis smugly licking chocolate off his fingers. He'd laugh, but his mouth is a little full and fuck okay yeah he can see why Nick likes blowing him so much. It's different from a regular blowjob, tentacles caressing your face and pressing into your mouth, but also much more awesome at the same time. He has to focus in on it, because her tentacles get impatient if he stops paying attention to what he's doing, and that's fine. That's completely fucking fine.

Even El's tentacles like bossing him around and that is. That is beyond fine. It's the finest thing in the world. They move so much and it's distracting except it's not because Harry needs to focus on making Eleanor feel _good_.

Louis comes over to kiss her, and Eleanor clings to him as she licks her way into his mouth. They make a pretty picture like that, from what Harry can see. Another tentacle worms its way into his mouth, and Harry shifts his attention back. He's so focused in on Eleanor's tentacles that the touch of someone else's hands startles him. "Shhh," Nick says, "it's just me."

Harry relaxes automatically. Just Nick. Just Nick is just wonderful, in Harry's book. He lets another tentacle into his mouth and his cheeks hollow, he can feel it. He hopes it looks good. He wants to look good and be good for them. All of them.

"You're so good," Nick says. He presses a kiss to Harry's shoulder, and Harry hums, pleased. It makes Eleanor gasp, and Harry does it again. He's collecting all the noises she makes, tucking them away for use later, and fuck if she isn't the most amazing person to ever happen to him. Aside from Louis and Nick. Well, they're all sort of tied.

That's totally not the point. The point is Eleanor is wonderful and Harry should really be focusing on her.

He concentrates where he should be, opening his mouth to let more of her tentacles in. He wonders, if she does ink again, if he should close his eyes just in case. He's never inked in someone's eye before, but it would probably hurt. He doesn't want to find out firsthand, so he lets his lashes fall down over his eyes as he intensifies his sucking.

Eleanor trembles, and Louis is whispering something to her that Harry can't quite make out. He doesn't care, because the words aren't for him anyways and there are more important things to be done. Someone's fingers find their way into his hair, and Harry sighs happily into it. He barely catches the soft _Harry_ from Eleanor that just makes him try even harder to bring her off again.

He doesn't know how many tentacles are in his mouth now, but it's enough to stretch his lips, enough that he can feel a burn in the corners. He doesn't ease up. It's a good burn, tells him he's doing something right.

Someone (Harry assumes it's Nick) scatters kisses down his back, hands steady on his sides as something he can focus on to ground himself. He works on remembering to breathe, which tends to be a thing that's easily forgotten during blowjobs, and gauging the noises that Eleanor makes. She's close again, Harry knows, but orgasms are never an exact science so he's not entirely sure precisely _when_ she'll ink.

If she will. She might not ink again. Or she might. Harry likes that added flavor of unpredictability to keep this foursome interesting. Foursome. He's having a foursome. Harry is wracked with the desire to giggle with the ridiculousness of it all but he can't, so he just swallows rapidly instead.

Whoever's fingers are in his hair tighten (it might be Louis, Harry thinks), nearly choking him on Eleanor's tentacles. Breathing, Harry smacks in the general direction of the offending person. Someone pets his hair in apology and it's strange. Harry's okay with not necessarily knowing who hands belong to. He feels completely safe, surrounded by all the people he likes best (and who like him best, maybe).

The safety is the important thing. Harry's had sex with people before, and he's had sex with people he trusted completely, but never with three people he trusts completely all at once. He's surrounded by safety and security and that's rare, in the life they lead.

He's so busy thinking about that while still giving a decent blowjob that when Eleanor does ink (although not very much), it's a surprise. He doesn't quite choke on it, but he does sputter for a moment. It's probably kind of gross looking, like an art class gone awry, but he figures that none of them care that much. None of them are looking particularly clean, and they've all just had sex. Looking cool isn't at the top of anyone's priorities.

Louis pulls Harry close to kiss him, and he vaguely hears Eleanor giggle and say _that's hot_. He can't really bring himself to focus on anything but that way Louis licks into his mouth, though. Maybe that's the problem with having a foursome: it's hard to pay attention to everyone.

He can't pay attention to anybody but Louis now, which is probably what Louis specializes in. He's really good at commanding attention and holding it, great at keeping people focused on what they should naturally be focused on: him.

Someone pulls Louis away from him, which Harry isn't exactly the happiest about, but apparently Eleanor wants to scrub at his face so he doesn't wake up purple. Theoretically, Harry sees the point in doing it, but he's never much been one for actually cleaning up after sex. It's boring and there are a lot better things to be done. "Stop squirming," Eleanor says, punching him in the shoulder lightly. "This'll get done faster if you're not moving so much."

Harry considers, of course, squirming more, to make her job even more difficult, but he's never been one to enjoy being contrary for contrary's sake. He dutifully remains still, then, as she gets the purple off his skin. Harry's sad to see it go. He'd love to have such a visible reminder of this when he looks in the mirror.

"If you couldn't be a homo-erotic Smurf," Nick says, scrubbing at Louis face, "I doubt they'd be any more receptive to you being purple." Louis is squirming, because he can never resist making things more difficult for Nick, and Harry pouts a little.

Eleanor's fingers dig into his shoulder, right where Nick's marked him up, and she smiles at him. He thinks she's either evil or really perceptive, and Harry wonders if he's transparent or he's seen fit to surround himself with people who are especially good at reading him. It might be a little bit of both. "Almost done," Eleanor tells him. "Good boy."

Harry can't help but let it still feel good, like it always does. He preens a bit under Eleanor's touch, a self-satisfied smile touching the corners of his lips and eyes. He _is_ good, he's a very good boy—not a dog, quite, not exactly like that, but he just . . . It just feels good when Eleanor says it, and Harry's not going to analyze why too deeply when it's not important.

When Eleanor's satisfied with the state of his face, she presses a kiss to his forehead and slips away to toss the flannel she'd been using . . . wherever. Harry doesn't know, he and Louis honestly just let that stuff pile up in the bathroom until it starts becoming unbearable and they have to do laundry. Or get someone else to do it for them. Nick and Louis are apparently taking forever to clean up, despite the fact that Harry had been significantly more dirty, partly because Louis refuses to stay still and partly because they've devolved into making out.

Personally, Harry's not sure why Eleanor had Nick do it. Nick's very easily distracted and probably cares even less than Harry about getting clean after sex. Actually, he's pretty sure the only person who really cares either way is Eleanor.

Regardless, it's nice to feel primped and prodded and put together. It's been a long time since anyone's treated Harry like this and maybe it shouldn't be that big of a deal, maybe it shouldn't matter, but to him it does. He'd not going to pretend it doesn't.

"Thank you," he says, when Eleanor's come back. He waves a hand around. "For, you know." _Everything_ , he wants to say but doesn't. It's possible that Harry relies on other people to extrapolate what he mean too often, but all the people he likes best are pretty good at figuring him out so he doesn't feel bad about it.

"You're welcome." Eleanor settles in his lap and touches their noses together before kissing him gently. 

And it's just as perfect as kissing her was while they were both turned on and sweaty. Harry's not typically shy when he's kissing or fucking or loving but Eleanor makes him feel something close to it, eager to impress and pleased with himself when he does. His hands rest easily on her thighs, thumbs brushing over her skin as her tentacles brush over the backs of his palms.

He's planning on kissing Eleanor forever, but apparently Louis and Nick have gotten bored with each other. Louis drapes himself over Harry's shoulder, and Eleanor pulls away, looking at him exasperatedly. He grins at her, and she rolls her eyes before turning to kiss him instead. Harry would be mad about it, but the problem with the four of them is that they're all clingy and attention seeking so he suspects that interrupted kissing is going to happen in the future. It's probably better to get used to it sooner rather than later.

And he thinks, he thinks it's a small price to pay if it means he gets to be as happy as he is right now. He still feels faintly purple and he's exhausted in the edges of his limbs but he feels better and more complete than he has in—well, since ever, actually. He just feels whole now.

Nick yawns, which makes Harry yawn in turn, and they should probably sleep at some point but Harry feels kind of like a stubborn child that refuses to go to sleep even though they're tired. He does lean on Nick, though, watching Eleanor and Louis kiss.

It's good that they've all found each other. Well, Harry and Louis found each other a long time ago, and Harry knows that, but the rest . . . He never would've guessed that he'd be surrounded by so many people he loved, and feel so well-loved in return. It's the most refreshing feeling but it's also tiring, like Harry's body can't keep up with loving so many people so fiercely all at once. He doesn't want to sleep, but he might have to. And that's alright, because he's got people all around him who will keep him safe.

"We're not all going to fit on this bed together," Nick says, matter-of-fact in the same way he might say that he's out of coffee.

"Yes we will," Harry mumbles, already dropping off, "we just have to sleep really close together." He actually knows that they'll all fit because of one really really poorly planned night where the entire band ended up sleeping up on the bed together, but he doesn't tell Nick that. It's probably weird that they only have one bed to begin with, but it had seemed kind of weird to buy two beds when most nights Harry ended up curled into Louis anyway.

Nick probably already understands. It's scary sometimes how in tune Nick is with Harry's thoughts. He usually gets what Harry's thinking or feeling ages before Harry does.

They do fit on the bed and Harry doesn't make a smug comment but that's mostly because his smug comments are all tucked away along with his witty remarks and his sarcastic quips. There's no time for witticisms now. Sleep's far more important.

They do have a bit of a scuffle where they can't figure out what order they should be in, but as it turns out Eleanor's very particular and needs to be little spoon (which Harry thinks must work out fabulously because Louis always insists on being big spoon) so she ends up with Harry against her back. Louis and Nick have some sort of staring contest to determine who gets to spoon Harry and Louis wins, which leaves Nick grumpily mumbling about teenage popstars as he settles into bed. He doesn't mean it, though, and Harry smiles into Eleanor's shoulder.

This is where he belongs. He doesn't mean to think something so sappy but he can't help how his brain works, and it's true, anyway. This, right here, is where he belongs, with Nick and with Louis and with Eleanor. It's a shame they've only just figured it out, but the way Harry sees it, they've got forever to make up for it.


End file.
